


The Trip

by ElGato



Series: Our Complicated Life [3]
Category: DCU (Comics), Wonder Woman (Comics), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Art, Art History, Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, World Travel, art appreciation folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 16:36:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11339262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElGato/pseuds/ElGato
Summary: After three months apart, Diana takes Steve on a vacation abroad. She may or may not think he needs some more culture in his life.





	1. A Trip to...

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during the Rebirth timeline. The title and story are partially inspired by Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon's The Trip as well as Simon Schama's talks in Power of Art. If you like witty banter and art respectively check those two things out. I promise you won't regret it.

Hal Jordan, Green Lantern of Earth was thrown back into a wall of Justice League heroes. Strong feminine arms wrapped around his shoulders to keep him up.

“I thought you got this,” Diana Prince, aka Wonder Woman teased as she threw the Green Lantern aside and used her gauntlets to block an aggressively thrown red fist construct from Red Lantern Atrocitus’ ring.

Superman managed to fly behind Atrocitus and grappled with him but was distracted by Atrocitus’ pet and closest ally, Dex-Starr. The cat used his red ring to shoot a tooth construct at Superman’s eye. It didn’t damage Superman, but as he braced his face he let Atrocitus go and the Red Lantern shook Superman off.

Hal Jordan whispered to his ring, “Tit for tat. Charging ring.”

He pointed it towards Atrocitus who was busy trying to land more hits on Superman. He grinned at the woman beside him, “Don’t worry, you’ll be back in time for that sweet sweet sweet vacation.”

Diana watched as Hal Jordan created a Gatling gun construct and before he could shoot, Diana shouted to Superman, “Kal-El, move out of the way!”

Superman knew what to do. He used his strength to wrestle out of Atrocitus’ way and Hal let his green Gatling gun do the trick.

\---

After Atrocitus, Dex-Starr, and the rest of the Red Lanterns retreated, Hal gave his thanks to the Justice League and its members went back to the Hall.

_ Finally,  _ Diana thought as she sat down at her station in the hall. Diana of Themyscira, aka Prince, had been antsy the last few times she was on call. She had planned a long needed vacation.

For Justice League team members, the concept of a true “vacation” was paper thin. Even if they took a break from duties, as superheroes they still had obligations. At least for the most part. Some found downtime, others didn’t.

Diana found that she was one of the few who just couldn’t find any time to escape. However, Superman, noticing that she hadn’t had much time to herself since, well, always, practically demanded she take some time off.

In his mind, it was necessary. Especially now. Diana’s...significant other---or whatever they were to each other--- Steve Trevor would be returning today from a three-month mission for the government. Top secret. He couldn’t even tell Diana what he did unless she used her lasso.

She never did. For the rest of the League, it was understood that she would not pry into his work business, even if Steve had vital insight on how the government viewed metahumans and the Justice League specifically.

She made that clear. It was an unvoiced understanding that the crux of her and Steve’s relationship relied on trust. The moment she used her lasso on him to reveal secrets he wasn’t allowed to reveal was the moment she would tell him unintentionally that she did not trust his capacity to make the right decisions.

And Diana did trust Steve to make the best decisions he could. But there were times she worried if that was enough. Having a strong moral fiber, like Steve, while being a government patsy didn’t exactly go hand in hand.

That said, even she was a little hurt that he couldn’t let slip a few details here and there. She felt that there could be a problem that could arise with this refusal to talk to each other about certain things.

But that’s what this vacation was for. To get to know one another better outside the confines of work and duty.

She glanced up from her closing down her station for the week of respite as Clark Kent, the Superman, appeared in front of her desk.

“You all set to go for some R n’ R?” he asked with a friendly smile.

“I am. Just got to change and get a few things before I head off. I’m meeting Steve at the airport in Milan. He’s coming directly from...wherever he’s been. From there we’re going to Rome.”

Clark had this wistful look on his face, almost akin to slight jealousy. “Lois has always wanted to see Rome. So do I.”

“Well...you can fly there.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same, as you well know. When I travel, it’s rarely for pleasure.”

Diana smirked and flung over her duffle bag of a change of clothes over her shoulder, “Well, since you did this boon for me, I would be more than happy to let you take a week off with your lovely wife for a vacation in return.”

Clark laughed, “I may hold you to that.”

Diana had planned this trip about a month ago, knowing that she wanted to go with Steve. They hadn’t seen each other in three months and that frustrated her. She was thankful that Steve agreed and gave her a timetable of when his mission would be finished.

He didn’t seem to much care where they went, so long as it was a vacation. Diana’s trip, however, was extensive as they would be traveling to several places in Europe. In her brief correspondence over letters with Steve, she asked him what places he would like to go.

He himself expressed that he wouldn’t mind spending a week in his childhood home on the coast of northern Maine (or as Steve fondly called it South Canada), relaxing, fishing, camping, enjoying the ocean and the cool beach, exploring maritime museums, or hiking in the dense woods that surrounded his hometown.

Though Diana did find that appealing in some regard, she was looking for a bit more adventure, a bit more...culture.

So she gave him suggestions on where she wanted to go. She already had an idea of what she wanted to do, the trick was convincing Steve to go along with it.

They worked out some compromises. Diana was adamant about going to Italy and France, and Steve suggested Ireland. They both agreed that before Ireland, they’d stop in London, as Diana wanted to see an exhibit in the National Gallery. Steve asked her if they could spend a day or two in the English countryside if they were to stop in England after their time in France.

It was...a compromise, one that she felt that she was more enthusiastic about than him. Either way, if he didn’t fuss, she would at least enjoy being in his company after so long apart.

_ If _ he didn’t fuss.


	2. Italy Part 1: When in Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana and Steve arrive at their first destination and explore on their first night.

As planned, Diana met Steve as he got off his plane in Milan. Surprisingly, he wasn’t that hard to spot in the sea of people getting in and out of their terminals. He was a good few inches taller than average and his blond hair really stood out.

_ How was he ever a successful spy? I can spot that yellow hair a mile away. _

He approached her with a beaming smile. He was wearing a simple black V-neck t-shirt, dark jeans, carrying his luggage behind him.

It was a bit surreal seeing him for the first time after three months. He looked healthy, thank Hera. But the stubble on his chin he had when she last saw him grew into a beard as blond as the hair on his head. His hair was longer and combed back on his head in tight waves, rather than shaved down into a military crew cut.

Diana couldn’t help but smile appreciatively, even as his arms went around her in an enthusiastic hug.

“Good to see you,” he said, her face still squished into his chest. “They made it in the lick of time. Spent an hour in the layover as they fixed a wheel.”

Diana pulled away and gave him a quick kiss on his lips in response.

“I almost didn’t make it either. Thanks in part to Hal Jordan,” she confessed, trying to hide her mild annoyance towards the Lantern’s impeccable knack for finding trouble at the worst possible time.

Steve smirked and gave a look one would give if they heard about a particularly troublesome child, “Ah yes, Jordan. He’s still a Lantern?”

“That he is. And despite his horrible timing, he does his job well. We should get a move on to make our train.”

He smiled under his beard, and reached his hand out and took hold of hers, “Lead the way, Diana.”

The train ride to Rome was short, which surprised both of them. Steve lived in America all his life and traveled all over the world. He was used to taking long trips between major cities. Not so in smaller European countries that were made up of nothing but cities.

Where Milan was easy, modern, and rather spacious, Rome was loud, old, and crowded.

“Well they did say all roads lead to Rome,” Steve said as he followed Diana down a narrow street, dodging stalled small cars and taxis. The buildings were tall, not skyscrapers but tall enough that looking up in these small streets could feel a bit claustrophobic, but that was easily forgotten by the grandeur that was Rome.   
  
Statues, pools, beautiful and rich architecture for even the poorest apartments gave Rome a certain life to it. One that Diana quickly appreciated. The city was millenniums old and still thriving, working and living around and with the remnants that told of the city’s ancient roots.

They turned at a building that didn’t look that much different from the tall tan and stucco apartments and buildings hugged next to it, but the sign above reading in fine cursive letters  _ Hotel Palazzo. _

Though the exterior didn’t stand out, the interior reception area was finely decorated in deep reds and velvet and yellowed marble complete with a fountain featuring a statue of Cupid. The young woman behind the mahogany counter smiled at them and greeted them in Italian.

Diana, being awesome and wonderful as she was, in Steve’s opinion, confidently used her omnilingual skills to get them checked in.

Their room was located on the upper floor, large but quaint with a high spacious ceiling and tall windows that allowed the Roman mid-afternoon light the flood through. Their bed, covered in velvet sheets, was large and placed next to a vanity that overlooked the streets below. There was a mini bar at the far corner and the small bathroom was positioned across from the bed.

Steve placed his luggage on the bed, while Diana went about laying out her things for later in the evening.

“You picked a nice place, Diana,”

Steve pulled open the curtain that overlooked a narrow street filled with parked Fiats and Vespas, “Granted, not exactly the beautiful sea view in the south or the hills of Tuscany, but it’ll do.”

“It’ll do?” Diana scoffed at his understatement.

“Don’t know about you, Di, but when I think of vacation, I think of relaxing on the beautiful countryside. No worries, quiet, peaceful. I don’t exactly think….Little Italy on steroids.”

“Do you have a preference of where we go for dinner?” She asked, purposely ignoring his last comment.

Steve hopped on the bed and reclined back, watching as Diana changed and cleaned herself at the vanity after such a long trip. “Anywhere where there’s a five-course meal.”

“Five courses?” she asked a little in shock. “You must be hungry.”

Steve patted his stomach, “Three months on rations, Angel. I need to gain back those carbs and calories. And Italian food is going to taste like heaven compared to the stone crackers and hummus diet I’ve been on.”

“Nice to know you aren’t limiting yourself.”

“Hey, I could be complaining about the lack of burgers and steaks in this region.”

She gave him a soft smile and turned to join him on the bed, “I know this wasn’t your dream vacation, but at least try to enjoy yourself.”

His response was to wrap an arm around her shoulders in a gesture of reassurance, “With you, I’ll enjoy myself regardless.”

The couple fell asleep on their hotel bed, resting up because of the jet lag and the hours of travel. Hours later they awoke and got dressed for their walk around the area and their dinner.

Steve was rather confused when it came to the dinner. When he heard that the reservations weren’t until nine at night, he fixed Diana with a stare. She explained that in Europe especially in Italy and France, people have a tendency to dine later in the evening.

Steve’s growling stomach disagreed with that custom greatly.

To satiate his appetite, they stopped at a market and bought a loaf of bread and a bottle of cheap table wine (which was still quite impressive compared to the table wines in the States). The bread was for Steve’s hunger, the wine, he hoped, was for later in the evening.

It didn’t take a genius to know that Diana appreciated aesthetics. Fashion, art, atmosphere, culture, she loved all of it. As such, she picked a five-course restaurant that fit all her needs.

_ Ristorante Dell’angolo  _ was one of the finer restaurants in the center of Rome, only a few blocks away from the Colosseum. They were seated outside on the veranda, the black French railings almost engulfed in ivy, the low light of the candles, creating a subtle atmosphere against the Roman night sky. 

They were seated near the edge of the veranda, where they could see the looming shadow of the Colosseum obstruct the moon.

Their waiter, a middle-aged man with glasses and a nice suit approached them with a wine listing in his hand.

He spoke at first in proper Italian. “ _ Good evening. We thank you for dining with us tonight. Italian? Do you speak it?” _

Steve looked lost and glanced across the table at Diana, letting her handle the language barrier.

_ “Yes, I do and thank you,”  _ she replied with a patient smile, a little amused that Steve seemed to just resign himself as she had a conversation with the waiter.

_ “Let me explain if you haven’t had the opportunity to be in a five-course restaurant before. We usually start out with our grain bread slices. It’s made fresh every hour and the grains come directly from Naples. It’s soaked in an olive and thyme oil and brushed with a wine vinaigrette that comes from Tuscany. We will have those right out for you and in the meantime, you may take a look at our selection of wines. We also have a wine expert on site if you need any suggestions or would like to know more about our selection.” _

_ “Thank you.” _

_ “I’ll be back with your first course shortly.” _

Steve was just there for the food, a bit disappointed that the portions were so...small. He’s been around the world and had their cuisine but mostly their street cuisine. Which was basically walking around bazaars and markets paying for whatever foods the vendors had. 

Diana was more caught up in soaking in her surroundings. Late nights feasting in the candlelight, the air warm and pleasant, the moon full on the blue night sky. It reminded her of home. Sure, Greece culturally was closer to her own, but Rome and Italy---it emphasized what made her home stronger. Equal emphasis on arts as with science and maths and technology, a thriving metropolis that had withstood the test of time, an open mishmash of so many different cultures and beliefs that somehow make it all fit perfectly in one place.

She missed her home. The last words her mother said to her before the gateway closed was “I am proud of you, daughter.” It left a bittersweet light in her heart. She felt there were things still unresolved. But at the very least Diana knew she was on the right path. After having Themyscira closed to her, Diana was incredibly sure of herself because of that. Insistent in some ways.

It was because she had truth on her side.

“Diana? You alright?”

“I’m just soaking everything in,” she replied, ignoring the look of concern on Steve’s face. “Succumbing to nostalgia I suppose.”

“Fond memories?”

“Of home yes,” her gaze followed a solitary couple walking hand in hand among the dim lamp posts, laughing and enjoying the city. “It’s not  _ home  _ home, but so much of it takes me back to my youth.”

“Can’t say I understand,” Steve said with a mouthful of cured mango lamb. “These roads were paved with blood and violence, not heavenly will, like your home.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Still, she could shake the intense feeling of familiarity and nostalgia.

“Certainly I think I remember Themyscira having bigger portions,” he said noncommittally as he forked in the last of the lamb into his mouth.

She gave a half annoyed tilt of the head, staring at him with a pointed look.

“And yet, not nearly the size of what you’re apparently used to.”

In the end, Steve food wise was left satisfied, which surprised him, until Diana reminded him gently that five courses of anything aren't going to leave anyone hungry. And that the ingredients were undoubtedly fresh and healthy.

Well fed, and fresh from a bottle of pristine Italian wine they both continued their evening on the walk back to the hotel, taking a rather scenic route to the Colosseum. Along the way, he listened as the quiet night was filled as Diana recited what she learned of the architecture and the history of the structure.

“Yes, the design is a lot like ancient stage theaters. The circular seating and staggered rows--made for the best to have every attendee be able to see the event.”

“And now we have basketball courts…” he concluded.

“Yes, and opera houses, amphitheaters, music halls…” she finished with a laugh.

When they arrived back at the hotel, Steve noticed that the hum of bustling outside had dulled into peaceful silence. A quiet evening. He sighed, feeling quite content. Content to spend time alone with his angel.

It was his reasoning behind suggesting they spend their vacation at his old house where he grew up. Spend less time amongst the public and more time being...private. Reveling in his love of her. No other distractions.

But even in the silence, he found he wanted a bit of light music. He pulled out his cellphone and played a song, soft, lilting, and acoustic, not distracting and went very well with the silence. He poured the table wine he bought earlier and handed a glass to Diana.

She toasted him again, “So, the night is still relatively young…”

It wasn’t. It was past midnight.

“...I have one more activity for us,” she took a sip of her wine and arched her brow suggestively. “How tired are you?”

“Not tired enough,” was his reassurance. “It’s been three months since we last were ‘together’, you don’t need to say anything else. I got ya.”

Steve took only one sip of his glass of wine and set it down. He was still full from dinner and wine only made him feel fuller. And he never liked making love feeling that way. So instead, he tasted the wine on her lips, gentle and searching at first, before Diana pulled him in completely.

She made it known that she missed his company with a strong plundering kiss. She wasn’t shy about moaning into his mouth, the taste of her wine stinging his taste buds. Diana wasn’t shy about a lot of things. She was always sure of her feelings, and in a way, it intimidated Steve. But this intimidation Steve liked. He thought it as her presenting a challenge.

A goddess placing a labor on a mortal adventurer.

It was no challenge to want to be bedded by the Princess of the Amazons. At least for him. Her challenge to him was more for himself. Be just as confident in himself as she was with herself.

It’s what Steve loved about Diana. She didn’t just believe in goodness, she inspired it.

“Kinda weird, isn’t it,” Steve said a bit breathlessly as he dragged his lips down the divine column of her neck. Her nails dug into his sides painfully as he nipped at the base of her throat. “Having sex here when the Pope lives just around the corner.”

“It’s not weird to me,” Diana said, running her hand below the front waistband of his slacks, quickly grabbing and testing what she was looking for, pleased to hear him grunt in surprise. “The Gods and their worshippers and high priestesses on Themyscira didn’t much care what people did with their bodies in the bedroom...or elsewhere.”

Steve was having a difficult time listening to her as she began to firmly massage his sac through his slacks, using a steady strong hand, just on the edge of rough.

“In fact, oftentimes we engage to show our love for the gods. Not sure what happened to this world that has told you to be ashamed of such things.”

“Humans-- _ ngh-- _ mortals-- _ Jesus, Diana-- _ I guess like to come up with things to feel guilty about.”

“Does that include you?”

Diana caught herself with that last question. She knew he had a good weight of guilt on his shoulders. Over what she didn’t know. Probably over many things. He wouldn’t tell her and she didn’t want to ask if he wasn’t ready to tell. She suspected that whatever dangling sword he had tied over himself had something to do with her. Which only made her want to ask “Why?” even more.

Instead of leaving Steve on the spot, Diana tugged on his wrists and pulled him towards the bed, “If you ask me you lot hold too much guilt over good things, like sex and body, and not enough guilt for bad things, like war and injustice. But I’m not going to discuss that right now. We will only be speaking Aphrodite’s philosophy tonight.”

Well, he had little trouble with her philosophy.

She leaned into him and he had no choice but to fall on the bed with her pinning him to the duvet. Laughter rumbled in his chest, the vibrations shivering throughout his body reached her own body, and she grinned.

She arched that eyebrow whenever she was in these moods. It was playful, but always a gesture that told him she was in charge. She would be evaluating him.

Diana rolled the bottom of his shirt up to his chest, exposing his long, and muscled midriff. It took a lot of resilience on her part not to shed him completely of his clothes. But he liked to have his clothes  _ on,  _ even in intimate situations. He said he felt comfortable that way.

To his benefit, that wasn’t to say he wasn’t known to strip or be nude around Diana, especially in their bedroom affairs. But he had a preference. In his time on missions and operations, he’s been stripped and nude and partially nude in less desirable situations. From a child, he was taught modesty, and then not being clothed had become a vulnerability and he rather not be vulnerable unless the time and circumstance allowed it.

Diana, on the other hand, would be the one to walk around stark naked with no care, while he kept everything on. After a while, and careful prodding on why Steve had a habit of trying to have sex with her while she was still clothed in her nightgown and him in his briefs and nightshirt, Diana had come to realize that she rather liked the idea of feeling the contrast of his skin against cloth and fabric. She liked the idea of slowly unwrapping him throughout the night.

Except jeans. Those she wanted rid of right away.

Diana pushed the shirt up higher, exposing his chest. She placed her soft, wine flavored lips on the flesh, marveling at the contradictions his skin had. It was hard and smooth for the most part, with some areas having a layer of dark gold fuzz. 

Meanwhile, her hands swiftly undid his belt and opened his pants. Steve hissed as Diana pulled the waistband of his boxers down and over his throbbing hardness.

A quirk of her lips, a glance down at the erection jutting between the open zipper of his dark jeans, and a swift untying of her hair was all the reaction Diana needed to give to tell Steve that she was hungry.

And she began to feast on him, giving quick nips along the center of his stomach down to his groin. She was about to take him in when he stopped her.

“Nah, fuck it,” he growled, not deigning to use his more civilized vocabulary. “I’m ready right now.”

A part of her wanted to tease him more, another part was impressed he was so ready already.

As if he could read her mind, he craned his head off the comforter, “Three months apart, Angel. Things happen rather quickly after such a long time.

“I see that,” Diana chuckled as she crawled over him, hips straddling his, giving him a strong kiss, firmly pressing her chest against his. Her fingers wound in his hair, loving the golden length.

As much as she wanted to make this night long and languid, Steve seemed to be all too eager. They didn’t waste any more time, Diana, still partially dressed, mounted him, hands gripping his shoulders as she began to rock and sway, and he began to rock beneath her.

As much as she preferred the warm and smooth sensations of flesh on flesh, the added friction, and urgency of coupling while clothed was enough to get her to gasp and keen with their combined motions.

The room filled with their combined breaths and moans and the soft music still resounding from the pinpoint location of Steve’s cellphone on the bar. Steve gave out a particularly strangled moan when her nails dug into the flesh of his biceps, barely able to hold on to her hips as she rode him faster and faster.

Steve voiced his approaching peak, almost an apology. He tried his best to hold off, but…three months...he was prepared to explode at this point.

“Come on...Di...” he gasped between breaths, encouraging her, wanting her satisfaction as much as he wanted his own.

She did not long after, quietly, gracefully, but certainly enough to pull Steve into ecstasy with her.

Both, still partially clothed relaxed languidly on the bed, catching their breaths in the quiet night. Steve rolled on his side, pants still open and exposing himself, and placed a hand on her hip, straightening the wrinkles on her skirt. She too pulled down the hem of his shirt back to his waist, gently and tugging and pulling out the creases until the garment lay smoothly on his strong chest again.

Steve was lazy, keeping his shirt on and barely managing to fling off his jeans as he settled into bed, Diana got up and turned off his phone, turned out the lights and removed her dress and underclothes swiftly.

She, naked as the day as she was born, and he, clothed in the safety of his shirt and boxers, fell asleep in each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both the hotel and the restaurant are fictional, just for reference.


	3. Italy Part 2: Maltese Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana and Steve take a quick tour out of the country to see...what else...art.

The next morning, Diana didn’t rise until the unrelenting sun rays defeated her stubborn desire to lounge with its insistence. When she did, she noticed that her bed was empty. A quick search found a note on the vanity next to her brush:

 

_ Morning, _

 

_ If I’m not here when you wake up I went out to get a pick me up. _

_ I’m in the courtyard of the hotel if you want to meet me there. _

 

_ -S _

 

Steve was an early riser, often the first to get up and make coffee and breakfast when they were home together, so it didn’t surprise her that he was already out and about.

Diana got dressed, tied up her hair again, and left to search for the hotel courtyard. Said courtyard was behind the hotel, a compact square open to the skies, but surrounded by tall apartment buildings, clothes lines criss crossing overhead. There were outside tables and chairs around the courtyard that surrounded a fountain.

It was empty save for a middle aged couple in the far corner happily eating a small breakfast of jam and toast and a big blond man reading a newspaper.

She approached the man with the newspaper.

“Good Morning,” she greeted Steve. 

His head jerked from the paper he was reading and his eyes brightened at the sight of her, “ _ Buongiorno.” _

“Very good,” she complimented his attempt at Italian as she sat across from him. “You read Italian too?”

“Nope,” he said with a laugh as he folded the Italian newspaper he was trying to read. “I figured it’s a close enough language to English, I should be able to make sense of something.”

“And?”

“Well...some soccer team got a new manager. That’s all I got.”

“If you stayed in bed, I could’ve read it for you.”

There was that glint in her eye. That flash whenever Steve saw it, meant she was thinking or saying less than pure things. Or in her opinion, exciting things.

Steve raised a brow and took a sip of his coffee before passing a glass bottle of green juice towards her, “Got you some green tea. Cold unfortunately, but I can see if the front desk has a kettle.”

“This is great for a quick one. Doubt we’ll have enough time for brewing,” Diana said opening the glass bottle with a snap and taking a sip.

“You’re dressed nicely today,” he commented, taking in her more formal clothing. Well, she was always dressed nicely. Diana also wore a more formal dress for their dinner last night. Her attire today resembled someone in a regarded profession, a long skirt, tights, black turtleneck and shawl.

“If we are going to a monastery, it would be nice to dress a bit more formally. Besides, many of these cathedrals and monasteries have strict rules of clothing.”

Steve glanced down at his own attire, a simple white button shirt and dark pants. He frowned, “You think this will be okay?”

“You look perfect to me. You should be fine.”

“Let’s see, we’re going to St. John’s Cathedral in Malta, right? Maybe I should put a dinner jacket on or something.”

“You should at least be comfortable.”

Steve laughed, “It’s a church. Being comfortable is not exactly high on the list of what they care for.”

 

While Malta wasn’t  _ technically _ a part of Italy, it’s closeness to the country made it a quick destination for many Italian citizens. It was a cheap flight away, but was bound to be a tiring trip, especially to just see the Cathedral, but it was one of the few cathedrals Steve seemed to be interested in.

And the cathedral itself was worth it. The interiors were gilded gold and filled with colorful designs and structures. To Diana, it felt very...Maltese. This little island, like Rome, became a cultural hub, but in the Maltese form it felt more of a mash of ingredients of African, Arabian, Italian, Mediterranean, and European influences all combined to make it’s own distinct culture.

Diana and Steve took a small cab just northeast of the airport and were dropped off in San Gwann. They walked the rest of the way there hand in hand, sun beaming gently, the breeze from the sea washing over the streets that led to St. John’s.

 

The Cathedral must have just gotten out of a service, the smell of incense still strong, the few people around were lingering tourists, gazing mesmerized by the the architecture and artistry. In the entrance was a bubbling basin of water and immediately as they entered, Steve’s hand, almost instinctively, reached out in front of him as he strode to the basin. He dipped in his first two fingers, and made a swift cross motion almost absentmindedly on his forehead, chest, and shoulders.

Despite such proper and respectful execution of traditional Catholic customs, Steve couldn’t resist a remark, “Looks like a giant quilt.”

“It’s got Byzantine and Middle Eastern influence in the structure yes. Not your typical cathedral. Then again, most cathedrals have a bit of identity to them.”

“I’m sure,” he said noncommittally. 

 

They walked between the pews (they weren’t pews but rows of stained wood chairs) and almost immediately their heads were directed upwards towards the ceiling. Steve had trouble making out what was going on. He thought he saw Jesus. Maybe god. But the flurry of color and tan made it a bit difficult for his untrained eye to pick apart the narrative of the ceiling.

“So like that Michelangelo ceiling, hunh?”

Diana nodded, “A smaller version yes. Mostly dedicated to depicting the life of St. John. We’ll see the Sistine Chapel the day after tomorrow. It’s much bigger.”

 

They strolled up the nave towards the altar. Steve was a bit impressed with the marble and gold statue of Jesus and John in the apse, the gold plated rays seeming to illuminate light on its own.

“It’s times like these I feel like I’m in a 90s’ rap video.”

Diana didn’t get that reference.

 

They toured through the chapels, Diana reading him various plaques on points of interest and paintings. As they stopped at a fresco painting of the Maltese Island, Steve bent down and whispered in her ear a bit nervously.

“Hey, uh is this where that Caravaggio painting is?”

Diana tore her gaze from the map to him, noting his expectant face. And then it dawned on her. This Cathedral was one of the few he expressed excitement over, so he had to have a reason to want to go here.

“Oh! Is that what you wanted to see here?” she asked, eyes widening.

“I’d like to take a glance at it, at least,” he said.

 

Almost as if she knew the place she led him directly towards the painting he was looking for. It was inside one of the Chapels dedicated to the Knights of Malta and it was clear that this was the primary point of popularity for the Cathedral.

A crowd of about twelve people were cluttered around the painting, quietly gazing, walking about taking better glances. A couple were softly chatting amongst themselves.

“Here it is.  _ The Beheading of St. John the Baptist _ ,” she explained.

The painting was large and rectangular, filled with muddy darks and bright lights. In the painting were seven people, five cluttered towards the lower left side of the painting and the other two inside a prison window towards the right gazing in shock at what was happening to the group on the left.

Three men and two women held the action of the piece. A large muscular man holding down another man draped in red cloth by his hair. Another man with a shaved head was giving a gesture while an elderly woman screamed and the younger woman held out a shining golden bowl.

On the ground, next to the head man draped in red cloth, was blood, spouting from his neck and onto the ground.

Despite the violence and finality of it all  everything in the painting, from the taught muscles to the expressions and gestures, seemed to be in motion. As if she and Steve just dropped in on this scene by accident.

“Damn, looks like a movie,” he murmured, not wanting to be too loud.

“High contrast and dramatic lighting was Caravaggio’s signature style,” Diana said matter-of-factually.

As the crowd thinned one by one, Steve and Diana were able to move closer for a better look, able to see the mastery with their own eyes. Both were quiet as they took their time to gaze through, eyes roaming to take in every detail.

“Caravaggio was a criminal you know. That’s why he ended up here.”

Steve turned to her, “Really?”

Diana nodded, “I think he killed someone. I don’t recall. It was something horrific. But he was given asylum and knighted here so he made them this in return.”

“Heck of a present,” Steve chuckled.

  
“Absolutely.”

 

After more moments drinking the Caravaggio in Diana moved on from the painting back towards the altar. She head past and dipped into the museum portion of the cathedral, that held artifacts and art from the Cathedral’s treasury on display. Immediately one painting caught her eye.

It was a tall narrative painting, author unknown. Of the rest of the paintings, this seemed to most follow the torturous brutality of martyrdom from Caravaggio’s painting that rested just across the nave.

The artistry was nowhere near as refined, in Diana’s opinion, but the visceral aspect of the content was much the same.

It depicted a woman, bound, eyes almost comically turned upwards towards cloudy heavens. Her white gown was pulled down, blatantly exposing her breasts. Or breast.

Where her left breast should’ve been was a giant circle of flat red color, flecks of red flowing down over the white of the gown. Her other breast was being held between large curved shears held by a half nude almost reddish skinned man as he was poised to dismember her remaining breast.

A small, cherubic angel floated above, holding out a crown almost as teasingly as he was holding the poor woman’s salvation from her pain.

There was a futility to the painting that made seem so like Caravaggio’s  _ Beheading of St. John. _ You could only watch as the man disfigured the woman’s body. Even the angel didn’t seem at all able to directly intervene. Just be there for her soul if and when it left her body after her torture.

_ This fascination with torture in a place of worship astounds me. _

Diana turned, assuming that Steve wouldn’t be far behind her. He wasn’t anywhere there. A quick turn back found him still at the Caravaggio, hand stroking the whiskers on his chin in thought as he looked towards the bottom of the painting.

“Did you know this is his signature?” he asked pointing slightly to a spot on the Caravaggio.

Diana stepped forth in front of the painting, brow furrowed. She thought she recalled Caravaggio didn’t sign his paintings as was per norm for painters at the time.

But sure enough, scrawled in the blood from St. John’s neck was a name.

“It certainly looks like it. Interesting with the blood of the martyr,” she glanced back up at the painting. “Perhaps he felt a bit of remorse.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. He wanted us to feel remorse for ourselves too, I should think. I don’t know, this feels rather human than…” Steve gestured to the empty space towards the painting. “.. divine I suppose.”

Diana folded her arms and stepped back to match his gaze, a smirk on her lips. “Is that so?”

Steve gestured forward towards St. John.

“Look at John. He’s fine. I mean, sure he’s being beheaded, but does he look like he’s responding to what’s happening to him at all? He looks half asleep, fine, to me. Compared to the rest, they drive the emotion I guess is what I’m saying. The woman screaming, the prisoners trying to get a closer look, the sheriff, the executioner, all of it drives the story. John’s just...the event.”

Diana smiled to herself. Art history being a bit of a hobby of hers she had grown to appreciate it when some outside viewer manages to grasp the artist's’ intention.

“You sure you don’t like art, Steve? Because you hit that nail on the head. So to speak.”

He frowned, eyes still screwed to the painting, “I like art, Diana. I just have preferences is all.”

Diana noticed that he was fixated on the sheriff and the executioner, his emotion unreadable as he gazed as close as he could at them.

“Caravaggio was much inspired by the dealings of everyday people. Some, most, considered scum of the earth. But in a way, that’s what made him so popular. He focused on the sinner of the pieces, rather than the holy. One could say it spoke to the people the church was supposed to embrace.”

Steve’s face, which was unreadable and a bit tense, shifted into an amused smile.

“What?”

“You’re a bit of a nerd, Di,” he said.

“If ‘nerd’ in this context means I understand and appreciate the history of this piece, then yes.”

Steve returned his gaze to the massive painting, and didn’t respond. Diana appreciated Caravaggio for what he was, but she’d be hesitant to say the artist was on Diana’s radar of her favorite artists. But that meant nothing. She could still appreciate the message. But it’s message, this one in particular, was lost on her.

But it was clear that this message speared Steve through the heart. She didn’t want to ask. It wasn’t her right to. They could talk about it later if they needed to, but for now, it was perfectly fine letting words go unsaid.

Instead of asking how he felt about the piece, she reached out and took his hand in hers, happy that he was taking time to appreciate this for himself.

 

When they both had their fill of the Cathedral and the museum inside it they walked back out into the town, noting how late it had gotten. The sky was turning a gold-orange with the impending sunset. The breeze from the sea nearby lifted their hair gently as they walked down the path into the center of the town.

In the distance, Diana could see a small stand, small lights hanging from the top illuminating the red stripes painted on its white walls. Several children in sandals, shorts and skirts scurried towards the line standing in front of the stand.

Diana watched as a young couple walked away from the stand excitement on their faces, and in their hands…

“You, uh, you want some ice cream?” Steve’s low burr said beside her. “On me?”

Her heart leapt and she tried in vain to not look too excited, “Do you really have to ask?”

 

It wasn’t exactly ice cream, as they found out. It was Italian ice. Still, Diana was more than willing to try it. And she very much did not regret it.

They both walked away from the stand towards the large flat stones that overlooked the shores. They sat and enjoyed their ice, watching the waves and the gulls float by.

Steve let out a sigh and broke the silence, “You think we’re facing home?”

Diana nodded, “Your home is where the sun sets and we’re watching a sun set so…”

She turned to look over her shoulder pointed back towards the ice cream stand, “Themyscira is in that direction...and a little bit up.”

“‘A little bit up’?”

“Themyscira is on a spiritual plane,” she explained glancing at him.

“And how do you assume that the spiritual plane is ‘up’?” he asked, stirring his Italian ice. “It could be down. Way down. Or just a layer, only separated by a veil.”

Diana shrugged, “You did  _ fall _ to me. Perhaps we were under your feet the whole time.”

She watched as he did his best to hide the tiniest of his embarrassment. Still, he leaned into her ever so slightly as Diana returned to her ice.

His breath was warm in her ear, as his voice dipped low and a tad solemn, “I’m glad you took me to Malta, Di. I really enjoyed myself.”

Diana pulled the spoon from her lips and swallowed before even attempting a response. Steve’s arm innocently wrapped around the back of her waist in a half hug as they sat on the stone. She leaned into him, leaning her head against his as they watched the sun start to set over the clear blue Maltese waters.

“It feels good to see the world and it’s treasures outside the context of war.” There was sadness that rested between them. Not over anything specific, just the state of their fates, that it took this much time and toil to actually venture and see the world as it was meant to be.

Diana couldn’t help but think, watching tourists and pilgrims alike roam inside the town, that this is what it should be like for humans. To go from place to place without threat to absorb and marvel at what magic mankind has created rather than destroyed, which unfortunately is a side that Steve certainly has seen too much of.

Well, just as he treated her to his world when she arrived, she wanted to do the same. See the world for what it should be.

 

They didn’t return back to Rome until late, both tired and eager to slip into bed to rest for the night. Before doing so, Diana and Steve took a quick shower together, innocently soaking each other’s backs and gently laughing as Steve tossed his wet hair about, like a shaggy dog.

Clean and dry, they slipped under the covers, hugging each other close. Nothing else happened as they drifted off, except for soft whispers of love and care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been to the cathedral once a long long long time ago so my memory is fuzzy on where specifically things are located but I'm fairly sure I'm close.
> 
> 'Beheading of St.John the Baptist' is not the only Caravaggio painting there, but from what I understand it is the most prominent.
> 
> The painting Diana views in the museum is entitled: 'The Martyrdom of St. Agatha'
> 
> Anyway, I love Malta


	4. Italy Part 3: The Cavalieri's Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana takes Steve to see the sculptures of the man who made the Vatican and no vacation would be complete without a work emergency.

Steve awoke to a very frisky Diana. At first he thought she was just trying to hide from the morning, but generally that didn’t involve her crawling under the covers and putting her lips around his morning wood.

When they were finished, he arched a brow at her smiling face near his hip, “So it’s gonna be one of  _ those _ days, is it?”

“Are you complaining?”

He reached over and stroked away one of her waves away from her face, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She propped herself on her knees next to his thigh, looking down upon him in naked glory. “We are seeing the Cavalieri today. One of the greats who understands a life of passion.”

“The who? And what?”

“Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Cavalieri Bernini. We’re seeing his statues at the  _ Galleria Borghese.” _

“Sounds like a pasta.”

“Always food with you,” she chuckled as her nude body slid off their bed to head to her suitcase for her clothes for the day.

 

The Galleria Borghese was constructed by a former Cardinal from long ago. It was built specifically to house the Cardinal’s treasures and art. His favorite artist? Gian Lorenzo Bernini, who Diana described as “the architect of the Vatican.”

“The majority of the layout of the Vatican was developed by him,” she mentioned as they walked through the broad doors to the gallery. “Of course it helps he had people like Cardinal Borghese on his side to get him those fat Vatican commissions.”

Clearly, Cardinal Borghese was not shy about his treasures. They could see paintings and statues line the walls of the main foyer and as far back down the halls as the eye could see. Steve was obviously unprepared for the onslaught as he reeled with a soft “damn”.

The floors were gleaming with colored marble, the walls glistening with gold leaf trim and painted frescoes. It was a lot to take in.

 

The first statue they could see right in front of the entry way was a flurry of action, twisting and writhing. It featured a large muscular bearded man, gripping a nude woman who was in the air, seemingly trying to twist her way out of the brute’s grasp.

Diana read translated the title from its Italian placard. “ _ Pluto and Prosperina _ . Otherwise known as the  _ Rape of Prosperina.” _

“Well...that’s pleasant,” he responded grimly.

“Try not to think of it literally. Rape was more commonly used as a term for abduction back then. Though I suppose abduction and the literal definition can go hand in hand. Certainly seems like it in this case.”

Diana gazed up at the male figure, lips pursed.

Steve chuckled in his chest, “You can take him. No contest.”

She smirked, “You think I was sizing him up?”

“Of course.”

“I was more thinking of Pluto---or rather Hades. Hades did kidnap Persephone, something I find many who defend him tend to ignore, but to their benefit I assure the kidnapping was not this...insidious. And Persephone as far as I know is perfectly happy with her arrangement with the God of the Underworld. But this initial crime still occurred.”

Steve left a hum in his throat in understanding as Diana continued.

“I don’t berate Bernini for the depiction. The uniqueness of his style is what’s fascinating here.”

“They’re statues,” Steve shrugged. He appreciated the craftsmanship sure enough, but his eye didn’t actually meet what she was seeing.

“Yes, but don’t you see what makes this different from your usual statue?”

Steve’s face screwed up as he gazed upon the statue again, as if he were trying to find the answer to a riddle in the muscles and flesh of the figures.

Diana gave him her answer, “Think of the statue of Lincoln at home, or Michelangelo's statue of David. Impressive, but they do what statutes do: stand there.”

"I suppose..."

To further explain, she led him to the second hall of artistic artifacts to face a similarly sized statue. The statue once again portrayed two figures and held much of the same themes as Pluto and Prosperina. A woman clearly fleeing the desires of a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Bernini makes them come to life. Like Caravaggio, the figures are less about devotion and more to create the illusion of action. These are incredibly live in comparison to the average statue.”

The sculpture they stood in front of did indeed feel like it was all in motion.  _ Apollo and Daphne  _ depicted the mythological event of when Apollo pursued a nymph who rebuffed his advances. Apollo--as was his history and nature--was adamant and while fleeing from the god the nymph called upon her father, the river god, to help her flee. As such, she was turned into a tree.

With this sculpture, the event was memorialized in mid action, Daphne’s fingers forming into leaves, seeming to climb up and away from Apollo’s needy hands as he lunged at her.

Steve shook his head in mild disdain, “The more I see this, the more I question the belief that Greeks really liked the concept of love. From Cupid’s arrow--”

“--Eros," Diana corrected.  


“--Eros’s arrow, to women turning into trees to avoid rape, seems they have a negative connotation of love.”

Diana knew he was pressing her buttons just a bit, even if he did have a point. “I’d argue that’s more reflection of passion, rather than love. They aren’t the same thing. Makes sense that there’s cautionary tales about perfunctory passion.”

 

With that she took him to the next wing around the corner. The wing held mostly Bernini’s busts, fairly life-like busts of the Cardinal Borghese himself, Bernini screaming, and Pope Paul V among many others.

“Bernini was someone who could be described as being motivated by his passions,” Diana jerked her head towards the bust of Bernini screaming--the expressive stone showing a side of a man who let said passions get the best of him. “From his careful rendering of flesh, to his subjects, it’s clear he liked the carnal aspect of passion.”

She pointed to a bust of a woman, her thick hair flown back, her face set rather resolutely, but animated instead of grim, as if she was carved in the middle of a serious debate that allowed her fierce emotions come to the surface.

“He had an affair with her,” Diana said matter-of-factly. “Costanza Bonarelli”

“Well…” his lips tightened in mild disapproval as he nodded. “Good for him.”

“Well he certainly was enthralled by her. Her passion especially.”

“Slow down there, Di,” he said in warning tone. As accepting as he was to her mutual attraction to the female form, he wasn’t sure if he was at a point he wanted to hear too much about it. He’d rather...guess.

“Until of course she was caught having yet another affair with another man. His brother no less.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, a grim smile remaining on his face as he heard the story. “Yeah well, you know, I mean...surely maybe it’s a bit out of the ordinary but is it our busi--”

“Of course I’m not insinuating anything,” Diana said, feeling a tad guilty that she regarded the complicated love triangle as frivolous and unseemly, “But even I have to admit that that’s a bit much.”

Steve laughed at that, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

“Please don’t sleep with my sister behind my back,” Steve begged teasingly, causing Diana to roll her eyes and smile. “I know it’s tough, but please don’t do it.”

“She hates me, Steve,” she nudged him.

“She does not,” he answered, but it was clear Diana was unconvinced. She couldn’t blame Tracy Trevor for not falling in step with most of the world in treating Wonder Woman with reverence. Tracy’s primary concern--after the welfare of her own children--was to make sure her dear older brother was happy, healthy and treated well. For reasons -- some valid, some not -- Tracy felt that Steve’s involvement with Diana had not only caused him physical and mental pain but heartbreak. “And when has hatred stopped anyone from hatefucking someone?”

It was Diana’s turn to look aghast, “Hate-what?”

“Hatefucking?” Steve looked slightly annoyed at the very word, “ I know, it sounds stupid, but apparently that term is used for exclusively weirdly consensual circumstances”

“Man's World really likes to find ways to take love out of anything, as if it's some sort of unnecessary burden. Why would anyone ‘fuck’ someone they hate?” Diana asked, genuinely confused about the concept.  


“Trust me, it’s a thing. I don’t claim to understand it myself, but I’ve heard stories. I assume it’s kinda like when a dog humps another dog to assert dominance. You bang the person you hate, it gives a sort of sense of victory...I guess.”

She arched her brow at his humor, “Oh so that’s what you think you do when you hold me in your arms in bed.”

“Oh no,” he drew nearer to her, grin widening, “I’m pure affection. Why else do I lick your face?”

He pulled her in and began to pepper her face with swift kisses. She giggled, enjoying his playfulness until she caught a docent eyeing them suspiciously. “You can either stop this onslaught or make yourself look even more foolish.”

“Says the woman who chose to be with said fool,” he teased as he pulled away, but kept his hands about her waist.

Her answer was to sweep past him down the gallery casually, before giving him an inviting glance over her shoulder.

 

Both held a tremendous amount of restraint on their walk back to their hotel. The saints of the various cathedrals and places of worship they passed would’ve been proud, they were sure. But the distant way Steve answered her queries on the way back, and the pink flush on his cheeks told her that he was close to snapping. She could, if she wanted to, push him over the edge, just to see if he would snap and pull her into an alley and attempt to have his way with her.

Diana was merciful in that regard then, as she simply led him to their hotel.

 

They devoured each other’s lips as soon as their hotel door closed behind them. Their moans and the sound of their wet kisses quickly filled the room. Steve purposefully ground his desire against her hips, an unvoiced message of his eagerness. Diana smiled against his lips.

Taking the initiative, Diana undressed Steve first, grazing her lips over the new skin of chest exposed. After his clothes were removed, she led him to the bed and gently lay him down, removing her jacket and unbuttoning her blouse.

Steve was acutely enjoying that he was exposed this time. Open and vulnerable in his nakedness. The roaring lust and the mid afternoon light beaming into their bedroom made his normal inhibitions dissolve allowing his own muscular body reflect the twisting, rolling, hard masculine beauty Bernini indulged in with his male subjects.

Diana, so used to ideal beauty of Themyscira and statues of her patron gods, so used to bodies of superhero figures like Superman’s and Batman’s, that Steve’s body seemed an oddity in comparison. And to her, it was all the more beautiful.

He had a body filled with blood and life. Of grit and toil. All the things humans go through and submit themselves to. Batman’s body, human in most ways especially the scars, was always carefully sculpted. Formed with purpose. It was armor to hide his humanity, which is why Bruce Wayne’s body didn’t differ all that much from Superman’s or Aquaman’s or any other metahuman.

Steve was just who he was. No desire to make himself into something inhuman. He was all mortal beauty that Diana was sure even Aphrodite would find fondness in the imperfections. He had scars, some faint, some not, and she has since memorized all of them. Including a surgery scar hidden in his golden mane on the side of his head where they had to remove shrapnel stuck in his crown.

He was tough, Diana mused. He could handle her.

Her hand brushed over the tattoo that ran from his shoulder to the middle of his right chest--a winding broad zigzag filled with many tiny intricate designs inside it. Her hand wound around to his other tattoo on his right bicep. This one, Diana knew, was hers. The bold design was inspired by her. She never asked if the artistry of the design was from Steve’s own hand, but the specific symbolism made it hard to believe it wasn’t.

It was a circular tattoo--judging by Steve’s other tattoo, he liked circles and spirals--featuring a stylized eagle--the crest of Themyscira. Inside the eagle’s wings that wrapped above it’s simple head in a circle was a blank circular space--the moon. Diana had told him a couple of times that she was named after the moon.

Tattoos weren’t a common thing among Amazons. They were inspired by the beauty of their own bodies, and to cover it with ink didn’t seem right. That, and the fact they were immortal meant that they would have to live with whatever markings forever. Amazon warriors specifically would rather have their scars mark them forever than needle and ink.

That said, there were a handful of Amazons who wore inked markings on their bodies, but they earned those before entering into immortal paradise.

For mortal humans, Diana learned of the purposes of tattoos. Most just aesthetic, others symbolic. She had little doubt that both of Steve’s tattoos weren’t made in haste and both told a great deal about him. It wouldn’t make sense to her if he just got the tattoos without some serious thought.

Her hand ran underneath his firm back over to his thigh, giving an appreciative squeeze, testing the solid rounded muscle of his thigh, then down to his hair on his shin, marveling the way hard muscle fused to bone.

His body had much of the sensuous curves and coiled muscle that Bernini sculpted in his figures. The difference was he was warm flesh and blood, rather than the illusion of it.

Steve reached down in an attempt to touch her as she placed a delicate kiss on his inner thigh. She placed another kiss on the tip of his manhood that was now throbbing angrily against his lower belly.

He hissed through his teeth and he clenched the pillow behind his head in a tense grip. When she took him into her mouth for the second time that day, a guttural noise ripped from his chest.  


Oral pleasure for Steve would always be weird. He was already in a surreal position of having the affection of an Amazon Princess, so to see her service him in such a way was something he barely knew how to wrap his head around. As such, he couldn't help that his body tightened in response.  


He failed to realize that Diana absolutely loved pleasuring him orally. From the way his brow knit tightly, to his eyes growing glassy, to when his body eventually went slack as he gave up fighting the pleasure, were all appealing to her. The sound of his breathing was patient and heavy, as if he was willing himself to fall back into a nice relaxing euphoria, but Diana knew as his breathing grew ragged and the press of his fingers were pressed a bit harder into her hair that he would not be for long.

Mercifully, Diana drew away from him, earning a rough mewl from her partner. She stood at the side of the bed, removing her skirt and panties, but keeping her unbutton blouse on. Steve, meanwhile, was recovering from her ministrations, his erection still begging for attention, glistening.  His face was passive relaxation until she climbed over him.

She cupped his face in both hands as she stared straight into his lust fogged eyes, saying quietly, "I wish you could see how beautiful you are to me."

Her words -- spoken with every bit of honesty in her -- broke his sensitive heart and he didn't dare respond given his mental faculties were out of commission at the moment. She kissed his neck, winding one of her hands down between them, positioning him against her opening. She eased herself onto him, her brown furrowing at feeling the friction inside her throbbing sex.

Steve tried to speak, to tell her she was the most beautiful, awesome thing in this world, but it all came out as grunts and harsh whines. Her hips rolled against his creating a rhythm to get them going, and Steve did his best to try to keep up.

As she bounced over him, eyes capturing his, she spoke between gasps, “‘Tis a shame we hadn’t seen the most masterful of Bernini’s works...it should be what you hope to achieve…”

“What?” he choked back the first tinges of release.

“A nun having an orgasm,” she replied, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Head thrown back, mouth open, breasts to the heavens…”

Steve was trying so hard not to mash images of the sculpture and Diana’s own expression into his head. He was close…

His quivering pre climax muscles propped himself up and he wrapped his arms around her waist, face buried into her throat, their flesh joining in searing passion. Her hand reached behind to untie her hair, the weight and silk gracing her shoulders. Steve used that opportunity to gently nudge her onto her back.

Hands joined, her head tilting over the foot of the bed, Steve did his best to bring Bernini’s salacious sculpture to life.

 

Despite their hunger as evening drew, they figured out other ways to satiate themselves in the arms of each other. But Steve’s stamina wasn’t endless and soon both settled for sleep.

Diana was awoken after midnight when her phone buzzed on the vanity. It was a short buzz. A notification. She initially thought to ignore it.

_ I’m on vacation. I’m on vacation. I’m on vacation. _

She stared at the phone in the darkness, hearing Steve’s deep breathing next to her. Knowing that it was going to claim her conscious that night, she got out of bed and checked it.

It was a news flash.   
  


_ Breaking: Cruise ship runs aground on Sicilian shores. Rescue attempts are underway. _

 

A bit dismayed, Diana glanced at her suitcase, where her uniform was packed (discreetly so as not to tip off Steve). People were in danger and she was in the area, it only made sense that she would go. If she worked fast enough she could get back before Steve awoke.

She glanced back at his sleeping form. He was gone from the world, sleeping steadily in bliss. Now was as good a time as any to slip away to help the passengers of the ship.

When she arrived, rescue workers were already there, doing their best to get people off the ship safely. Diana helped passenger break through the portside hull, closer to where rescue boats were, and used her titanium strength to close a gap in the lower decks, were rocks had penetrated the metal as the ship ran around.

Diana didn't return to her hotel until long after sunrise, but she was pleasantly surprised to see Steve still asleep in much the same position in which she left him. After quickly checking his breathing, Diana decided to remove her uniform and shower in the bathroom. When she came out of the bathroom, Steve still was asleep, though was probably on the verge of waking judging by the tenseness in his eyes.

Steve rolled over on his side, the white blankets falling away from his chest, exposing it to the light of the early Roman sun. He glanced over, staring at Diana through narrowed eyes.

He pointed an accusatory finger at her, “You went out and saved people, didn’t you?”

Diana finished tying up her hair and glanced over at her lover, a confident smile on her face. “There was a cruise ship that ran aground near Sicily last night.”

Steve groaned, lying back on the bed, but managed a sympathetic, “Everyone get out okay?”

“A few injured, but no deaths as far as I’m aware.”

“Good,” Steve said dispassionately, having trouble being fully awake. “Good job.”

Diana placed her brush on the vanity and crossed to the bed leaning over her side, tempted to pull Steve’s sheet a bit lower on his body. 

He reached out to her, tugging her hand in a gesture to get her to join him. “If you want, we can skip the Sistine Chapel so you can catch up on that rest you lost breaking our vacation rule.”

Smirking, knowing that Steve was probably wasn’t really disappointed in the prospect to skipping the Sistine Chapel, she took his hand and crawled onto the bed, “I can skip the Sistine Chapel. I already got my Bernini anyways.”

She straddled his hips feeling his half-awakened erection and braced his shoulders, “But I don’t think I’ll be doing much resting today.”

Steve chuckled, “Temper your expectations, Angel. Even I’m not cocky enough to proclaim I can go all day.”

That didn’t stop Diana from taking him several times that day, Michelangelo forgotten in lieu of Diana indulging in her lover’s flesh and body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I like Renaissance classics, I have an attachment to Italian Baroque--probably why I decided to focus on Caravaggio and Bernini--rather than the classic masters.


	5. Paris Part 1: Together in Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana and Steve leave Rome for Paris. Once again, no one truly has a stress free vacation.

They left Italy the next day, taking a direct flight from Rome to Paris. The atmosphere around Paris greatly differed from Rome, in Steve’s opinion. Modern day Rome was a center of happistance, poor and wealthy indulging in their city’s deserved ancient treasures. Paris was built on social upheaval, which was why it didn’t surprise Steve in the slightest that the average Parisian had an air of self-superiority about them. They were content in their status of being a modern cultural epicenter that took on a refinement not seen in places like New York or Munich.

It amused him more than it did Diana, who took Paris very seriously. She was practically gushing everywhere she looked, a gleam in her eyes that took Steve by surprise.

“I’ve only been here on business,” she commented, her eyes bright as she drank in the surroundings of the Champs-Elysees. “This takes on a whole new life when I’m not worried about Manticores and Hydras.”

The couple walked hand in hand down the avenue, enjoying their first moments in Paris exploring the sites of the city. They passed by Notre Dame and Steve and Diana took the time to gaze up at it.

“It’s not as big as I remember it.”

Diana scoffed a bit, “You mean it's not as big as it looks in that cartoon movie your niece loves so much.”

“I still maintain that movie is a hidden masterpiece. If they got rid of those Seinfeld gargoyles it would’ve been a perfectly epic cartoon. Complete with overlarge interpretations of this cathedral.”

She braced her eyes from the slightly overcast sun as she ogled the structure, but the light her eyes just right. The blue turning into magical pools from her homeland. Her eagerness over this whole experience making them shine brighter. Steve felt his heart thrum in a painful ache. Sometimes it was torture how much he felt for this woman, and often he thought he did something to offend Aphrodite if she were to make him feel love such a way.

But then again, he was infinitely more grateful. He wasn’t sure if he believed these gods would at all care about him, but he still whispered his graces to the Goddess of Love in bed, often in Diana’s arms, just in case someone was listening in.

He turned his head away when she glanced at him. She caught him staring. Wordlessly, she took his hand and continued their walk through the square.

Not far from the Notre Dame Cathedral, across a bridge, lied The Louvre. And odd museum in Steve’s opinion, the only visible part of it was three glass pyramids stuck in the middle of a large courtyard.

“There it is!” Diana cried out excitedly and Steve felt the tug on his hand be a little more insistent and he followed her quick steps to the pyramids. Eventually, she let go his hand, impatient to see the pyramids face to face.

“I plan on visiting this tomorrow,” she said. “But you have no idea how much I want to go there now.”

In a matter of moments, charming cool Diana gave way to excited and innocent Diana, as the distinct look of wonder crossed her face.

“You really like art don’t you,” Steve commented softly.

Diana nodded, “Of course. All the creativity of man is expressed best through art. And this is the epicenter.”

Steve gave a wistful chuckle, shaking his head, but he could not hide the look of adoration on his face. She took his hand and pulled him gently, “You know, working at the Louvre is one of things I would’ve liked to do. If I was…”

“Not a superhero?” Steve offered.

Diana didn’t know how to respond to that. “Being a superhero is all I know. I’m not like Flash and Green Lantern. I wasn’t given gifts after living a human life. All I know is who I am.”

He squeezed her hand gently, letting his sympathy be known. It was one of many good things about Diana. She could sense emotion very well, so there were times he didn’t need to say anything to get the point across. For someone like him, who had trouble voicing his thoughts and feelings, that ability just endeared him more to her.

As silenced followed, nothing could drown the distinct rolling sound of a growling stomach. Diana glanced at Steve accusingly.

“Someone getting hungry again?” she teased.

Steve flushed, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not starving or anything.”

“It’s no matter, I had late lunch plans anyway.” Diana pulled open her purse, revealing what looked to be a picnic blanket wrapped in plastic and two small wine glasses, precariously wedged inside.

 

She gave no explanation of what her plans were when they stopped by an outdoor food mart, where the owner was shamelessly flirting with Steve as she taught him how to ask for groceries in French. Rather than being cross with the woman, Diana just observed in amusement. Oh she was well aware the effect Steve could have on women and the occasional man sometimes. Steve described it as a “boy next door” syndrome. Diana disagreed, knowing it was his demeanor and beauty that attracted his fair share of flirtations.

And she couldn’t blame them. Even from the inside perspective, Diana was aware that Steve was considered really handsome in this world. Alluring and fascinating to her world.

While she watched passively as a few women here and there made their passes at him, Steve usually couldn’t resist a reaction whenever someone had the audacity to make a pass on Diana. It was one thing if a man or woman genuinely complimented her beauty. He couldn’t blame them. But that was vastly different from a man approaching and talking to her with promises he knows he won’t keep for more than a night.

When that happened, Steve couldn’t resist in making his presence known, rolling his shoulder muscles and trying to make himself look larger than he really was. Luckily for him, he was big enough already that in most cases, the accosting gentleman would be easily scared away, but not always. He tried not to give more of a confrontation than necessary. And Diana would have no tolerance if he were to pick an all out fight.

But, in all the times she’s seen her, when a man took an advance too far, she was quick to rebuff him. Women on the other hand…

The couple bought bread, cheese, and sausage, and Diana picked out a bottle of cheap table wine.

“What is all this for?”

“You’ll see,” she replied.

 

Diana led him to the Eiffel Tower and they crossed the broad expanse of green lawn in front of it, dodging lounging families, friends, and lovers until she found a spot near the far end. There she opened and folded her picnic blanket and placed it on the grass for them both to enjoy their food.

Bread was broken and wine was poured, and they both lounged, remarking on their pleasant surroundings.

“It’s hard to tell sometimes that Paris is still relatively old, still much of it steeped in old Roman routes of fraternity.”

He chuckled as he laid back to watch the clouds in the sky, “I was in a navy frat once. Can’t say it was much like this.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know,” Steve brought his arm behind his head and confessed, “The most I know of Parisian history revolves around the Hundred Years War. But that was way way before Paris became the center of France that it is today.”

Diana rested her head on her crossed arms, “It’s history isn’t so much defined by events but on movements. Art movements, social movements, literary movements, especially in the 1920’s.”

“I know. I’ve read Hemingway.”

“Not surprised,” Diana said flippantly taking a sip of her wine. He would be the type to get a kick out of _The Old Man and the Sea._ Steve rolled onto his side, gently placing a hand on her hip. They looked innocent yet intimate for out in public. They weren’t the only ones getting handsy on the lawn, as such it was just as easy to blend in with the other couples giving each other affection, without Steve feeling self conscious. “Personally, I ponder it’s notoriety in killing their sovereigns. It’s something I would never consider desired upon my mother at home.”

“That’s because you’re mom’s you’re mom,” Steve exasperated. “She knows how to run a tight ship from little what I saw. You can’t fake that type of loyalty for thousands of years.”

Pride swelled when she heard those praises. Not because he said them, but because she knew that was the truth. And Steve’s ability to see and tell that truth probably would’ve flattered the Queen of Themyscira herself. “I am thankful of my home’s history. But looking at Paris here, it still tells us how humans can make paradise off of disaster. This city, as you say, does have its dark history.”

“So where does all the romance and love come from?” he asked skeptically. “They seem have a semblance of creativity, even in their rioting.”

“Once again, you’re conflating love with passion,” Diana sighed dismissively. “They are not always the same.”

“I know,” he said, his voice wounded and withdrawn. The weight of his hand on her hip lessened as he became aware that despite all the love he had in the world for her, he feared his passion wouldn’t be enough. To which he had an excuse. “I know I’m not...the most spontaneous guy in the world. I tend to focus all my energy on work, so I assure you I am not without--”

Diana placed her finger to his lips, quieting him, “I don’t know what you’re worrying about, but don’t for one moment think I’m anything but satisfied in our relationship.”

“I’m just glad you’re a workaholic like I am,” he whispered before kissing her gently, wine stinging her tongue.  


At first, Diana thought the vibrations she was feeling was her own physiological response to the kiss, but the muffled noise of buzzing became apparent as Steve drew away. She glanced at him and then down at his hip. An arched brow was her response.

He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. As he read the caller ID, his expression became stiff. “One moment--”

“And you were the one giving me grief for taking a work call.”

He chuckled as he stood and walked a distance away to take the call, and in the meanwhile, Diana took in the various couples that surrounded the lawn. There was a group of college aged girls laughing over books; a rather fit looking middle aged couple, embracing what was left of their youth as they briefly kissed. A couple crossed her field of vision. The young man was carrying a picnic bag, while the young woman was carrying a small child in her arms. She observed as the two settled for their early dinner, and admired the structure before them. The child seemed to be a bit excited by the surroundings, her tiny hands flailing as she gave coos of glee when people would pass by. The father laughed and took the child in his comforting arms, rocking her gently.  


Diana could appreciate the pace of Paris, free and easy, with a touch of being swept up in the romance of it all. Paris was something all the better to enjoy with someone, rather than alone. Even when walking the streets by yourself, you were never far away from company.

"Sorry about that," Steve apologized as he returned to his seat, shoving his phone into his pocket.

"So was it work?"

"Yeah I'll talk to you about it later. Let's just enjoy the time here."

 

They returned to their hotel fairly late, after spending the rest of the evening watching the Eiffel Tower light up and admire the scenes along the river. It seemed, in the evening, especially at twilight, Paris became alive.

In their small room, Steve was marinating in a bath, finishing off the rest of the wine as he relaxed, watching Diana brush her teeth and get ready for bed.

“What was the call about?” she asked, spitting out her toothpaste. “You said you’d tell me.”

Steve sighed and poured the last of the wine in his glass over the increasingly tepid water of his bath, “I’m on vacation…”

“That bad hunh?”

He took a deep sip, “Forces are being pulled from Syria after that missile launch. They want divisions there with full weapons.”

Diana’s heart began to race at the news. It sounded like all out war. Withholding the urge to suit up at the mere metion of war, she wiped her face clean and sat on the closed toilet lid next to the bath. “So...do they want you to go to war now?”

“It’s not a war, officially. Even our national leaders aren’t stupid enough to launch a full fledged attack. The special forces are for protecting the perimeter.”

“So like you were doing before.”

Steve shook his head. “No this means we’re pulling out of the country. The border patrol is to make sure there is no outside interference or the spread of violence to other countries as we do. But it means we would be locking refugees and civilians in a wolf's den, throwing away the key and looking the other way.”

Diana’s jaw went rigid, “When do you have to leave?”

Steve smiled, “I’m not cutting our vacation short, Angel. They are finalizing the preparations and I’ll leave when we return.” He placed his empty glass on the ceramic tile of the bathroom floor and reached over for her hand. Diana held hers out so he could take it. He squeezed it, signalling his reassurance, "Can we talk about something else? I am drunk, and in a French bath, I don't think I want to be in a state to talk about work or war. I, at the very least, want to keep our vacation rule in tact."

She slipped her hand out of his grip, a bit crossed with what he was insinuating, "Are you going to give me grief about that the whole trip? It wasn't far and people needed help--"

"You did the right thing, Diana!" Steve immediately regretted his words and how he phrased them. "I would never desparage you for doing the right thing. But I can't always do the right thing. So why force myself into a constant state of action over something I can't do immediately at this moment. Christ, Diana, don't you think if I could stop that government from killing their people, I would?"

Diana felt heat flushing her neck. She was upset, and he was a little drunk. If this continued, then their vacation would truly be ruined. "Steve--"

"I don't want to sound egotistical, but the truth of the matter is I don't trust a lot of people in charge right now. I really don't. I only trust myself so that's why I keep myself in the game by playing the rules. No matter how much I hate it. I can't risk being demoted again, Diana. Because who knows what fucker would take my place."

"...I know."

"I know you know," Steve replied softly as he unsteadily got out of the tub. He wrapped a towel about his waste and left her alone to finish her routine.

 

Diana couldn’t sleep that night. Her partner however was sleeping soundly by her side. It wasn't so much about their small fight, but about what was ahead for them.  


_ How can he sleep, knowing he has to go back there? _

She knew he  _ hated  _ it there. He was doing something he loved, helping people, but there he couldn’t stand it. Diana knew this because she had visited him at the start of that mission before she had to be called in for a mission against Mongul’s new army. He was despondent and quick tempered and visibly sickened by the state of things. Good thing he was a good commander, but his attempts at instructions towards his own people were sometimes met with contempt. He and his ranked compatriots were juggling a thousand things at once. Unruly soldiers. Over-enthusiastic rescue crews who end up doing more harm than good. Frightened civilians now torn from their homes. And of course the assaults from those who were supposed to protect their citizens; not destroy.

All the while told they weren’t to engage; only provide relief. That made Diana’s blood boil. And Steve likely felt the same. There was a clear wrong committed by one power. Someone had to stop it if the displaced refugees were to ever have a chance of seeing their home again. Steve had told her that he saw a soldier throw a grenade inside a house. A house that probably held a family. He was standing right there and he could do nothing.

“It’s like having a chain of hypocrisy around your neck,” he said with more bite one night in the encampment, as he washed his face with water from a plastic bucket. "It's forcing yourself to watch others die like it’s just on the television.”

Just like he couldn’t tell her which missions she should and should not do; she couldn’t tell him the same. He had a thumping desire in his heart to keep the purpose of his profession in focus. He was to defend and provide. Protect.

One of the few of his kind who took that to mean what what it said and not use it as a platform to constitute more violence.

She taught him well, and she couldn't begrudge him for taking it all to heart.  


A soft exhale interruped her thoughts and she felt Steve shift on his side. Still half asleep, Steve brought his arm about her waist and pulling her closely to him, giving a squeeze.

"Don't think about it, Angel," he mumbled. "Relax, love."

She felt warm as their bed creaked with them settling closer to each other. And him calling her 'love' in his half asleep state stuttered her heart. He tighted his hold on her and whispered softly into her hair, "Think about those glass pyramids."  


"The Louvre."

"Yes," he sighed, struggling to keep awake enough to form words. "We're going to spend all day there. See some art. Stuff you love."

Her body relaxed and she closed her eyes, following his voice in her mind. "See some Van Goghs, some Monets, some...whatever French artists have stuff there."

Diana expected him to continue, but the soft gentle sounds of his breathing told her that he fell completely back to sleep after his soothing words. His presence, his breathing, worked well enough to lull her to sleep.


	6. Paris Part 2: Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there's anything in the world that could possibly amaze the Wonder Woman, it would be the treasures inside the Louvre.

He stirred late the next morning, finding Diana sitting in the velvet chair next to the tall window looking down on the cobblestone street. She looked wistful, contemplative.

Diana didn’t sleep as well as she would have liked last night thinking about Steve going back to Syria. To her that meant things were getting worse over there. Or at least harder to manage. She was tempted to fly out right then to take some measures to assess how bad it had gotten.

“Are you just going to sit there and stare?” Diana heard Steve’s groggy low growl as he stirred, obviously frustrated by her empty side of the bed. 

Diana, in her hotel robe, turned her gaze from the window to her lover. Steve’s eyes were heavy lidded, glistening slits of sleepy excitement, a sly smirk curling underneath his beard. He pulled his arm back behind his pillow, opening himself up to her gaze.

“We forgot to do something last night,” he groaned. “Am I right, soldier?”

He opened his legs, the white sheets falling dangerously low on his waist. Diana almost laughed. She knew Steve well enough to know he was playing, his morning lust propelling his boldness, when normally he would button himself up. This time he wanted her to play with him.

So ‘play’ she shall.

“I am satisfied, soldier,” she leaned in, giving a devilish smirk in kind. “You, however, have all the utilities to do the deed yourself.”

He gave her a vague look. She straightened in her chair, crossing her legs so that the robe exposed them to Steve’s view just right.

“I am saying, Steven, that you can pleasure yourself. And I will watch.”

Truth be told, male masturbation wasn’t something Diana thought much of. She was highly aware of female masturbation techniques and what it looked like, but beyond Steve giving himself a few strokes to get himself ready for intimacy, or when she would stroke him, she’s never seen a man pleasure himself to completion.

And there was no better opportunity than when Steve practically offered himself up like a meal.

He looked confused and skeptical, “I wasn’t expecting that. Haven’t done that since I was in basic training.”

“Come now, Steven,” she propped her head on her hand, brow arched in skepticism. “Apart for three months and you didn’t spend one lonely night, your own hand touching and stroking yourself...to thoughts of me?”

Steve scoffed, “You underestimate me, my dear. I can go a good mile without release. My church boy upbringing taught me self-discipline well. Besides, I don’t think I’m fond of getting off to the thought of someone who doesn’t know it. It seems...skeezy. There’s plenty of people in the world who get off to thoughts of you anyway, you don’t need one other.”

“Even if that ‘one other’ is the man I am sleeping with?” she retorted.

He didn’t have a good comeback, and Diana’s gaze was clearly insistent. Silently, he pulled the white sheet away from his groin, exposing himself to her.

“A rather tired looking thing, isn’t it?” Diana teased again, remarking on the slightly aroused state of his morning wood, and Steve couldn’t resist a pang of humiliation.

“Witch,” he hissed, knowing full well that he was falling for her trap.

Steve kept his open pose, hand poised over the base of his cock. Diana’s eyes were fixated on his organ noting that he was now growing half-erect, resting heavy against his thigh. Her gaze seemed to be enough to make it pulse and twitch. “If it’s state disappoints you, you can always come over and give it a kiss yourself.”

Diana always had a stronger resolution than he did, no matter how much he prided himself in his own iron-clad self control. She remained taught in her seat, waiting in scrutiny.

Licking his lips, Steve resigned and began touching himself. He shut his eyes tight, not entirely comfortable in masturbating in front of this woman. Growing up in female dominated house, sharing a room with his sister, made private personal exploration into his sexual urges difficult when he hit puberty. And the thought of someone watching him or catching him…

“Open your eyes,” Diana ordered, leaning further in her seat, an eager expression across her face. 

He did as he was told, licking his hand and placing it back on his organ. Slowly he rubbed and stroked himself full, until he could feel the palatable throb and hear his blood rush.

Diana watched with mild fascination as Steve serviced himself. The way his skin took a red hue, his muscles twitching as he fisted his cock tightly, as if he were taking control of the joystick in a cockpit, his hips moving at a mind of it’s own, desperately reaching for his own touch.

She hoped the smile she gave him wasn’t wicked.

His hot breathy noises and the rubbing of skin filled the room. Diana was quiet, looking invested as if she were watching a performance. Well...she was. 

Seeing a woman bring herself to climax was a soft fluid sensual experience. Beautiful. Steve servicing himself was different. Sensual in how rough and raw it was, how abusive it was. Unrefined. And it excited her even as she kept her expression passive as she watched.

A whimper hung in his throat, feeling himself drive closer to his peak, but was painfully reminded that the object of his affection was out of reach. To him, she was the key to a satisfying orgasm. Anything less, especially with his own hand, was a hollow release.

If possible, his heart rate grew quicker as she finally rose from her seat and strode over to the bed, her robe held tightly together. He whispered an impassioned “Yes” as she leaned over him. He whined as she hesitated, his hand still furiously trying to rub himself to completion.

Hypnotized they stared into each other’s eyes, Steve’s own blue ones going dark in his state, Diana’s urging him on. She reached down and cupped his neck, and bent further, opening her mouth against his scruffy jawline, scraping her teeth along his skin, inhaling his musk as he edged closer and closer.

“Diana...please…”

He couldn’t articulate what he was begging her to do. Words and coherent thoughts failed him. He hardly even remembered that he was furiously touching himself until something taut within him snapped.

A sound rumbled loud in his chest as he jerked and reached climax, long and drawn out, his body trying desperately to connect with hers as he rode out the waves. His lightly heaving breath washed over her face as she leaned in.

“Best to clean up and get dressed,” she said sweetly, placing small kisses on the ridge of his lower lip, smiling at the way his eyes were now a white glaze and unfocused. While she slid off to get dressed, he lay for several moments sated, relaxed, and feeling only slightly dirty.

\----

As they strode across the plaza towards those glass pyramids, Steve found himself a good three steps behind her. 

“Slow down, Diana,” he called softly behind her, though he had long given up trying to keep pace. “It’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Do you realize how large this museum is?” she shot back over her shoulder. “This isn’t a quick walkthrough like Malta. And we only have the day so…”

“Alright, alright, I hear ya.”

They entered the underground alcove and boy, Diana wasn’t kidding. The place was huge. And busy. It was easy to be overwhelmed and by the way Diana’s head swiveled here and there she was quickly becoming over-stimulated by the things she loved about this world the most.

As soon as they got their passes, Diana was quick with her questions, “Where should we go first? Sculptures? Oh we’ve seen too much of those. Modern art? Or maybe the Roman and Greek art?”

She clicked her tongue and then murmured, “Oh but I got much of that at home.”

Instead of allowing her to continue this rather adorable bout of indecisiveness, Steve spoke up, “Diana, take a deep breath.” He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, meeting her gaze with a lopsided smile. 

To her credit, she kept her face serene, keeping focus on Steve’s face as he laughed.

“Okay? Now, is there anything specific you’d like to see. We can start there.”

She crossed her arms as she thought for only a moment. “The Mona Lisa of course. I know that’s a typical cliche thing to see here, but I am curious…”

He took her hand in his, tucking it next to his side, amusement still on his face, “Okay. Let’s go see her.”

 

It wasn’t hard to find the work in question, but it was hard to  _ see  _ it. The crowd focused on a spot on the wall was immense, soft clicking sounds marking the numerous photographs being constantly taken. But when they drew to see a closer look to where they actually could see the famous portrait, Diana’s eyebrows shot to her hairline and Steve’s mouth dropped a bit.

Not because of the awe at seeing the most famous painting in the world, but because they weren’t expecting it to be so...small. It couldn’t be much more than the size of the average portrait and was huddled in a glass case.

As Steve scratched his head in bewilderment, Diana got over the initial shock and began to take the portrait in. For it’s unimpressive size, it was distinct, identifiable. You couldn’t mistake the soft tan shape of the woman’s face among the muddled darks of her clothing and surroundings.

And it was the smile that made this something else.

Granted, Diana knew context more than her partner did, so she understood that in life portraiture for the time, smiling was rare, and the barest hints of the smile that crept along the woman’s face did make the mind wonder. She could’ve been shy, or just wanted to amuse the artist, or went along with a rather unfunny joke, or many other things. And maybe that was the point. No one knew what made her smile. It was the viewer’s job to figure it out.

Figure out what made the Mona Lisa smile, and you’ll be sure to understand the heart of the human condition. Or least that was Diana’s impression from what she learned of Da Vinci and of Lisa del Giocano.

Steve quietly took his picture, figuring he only had so many opportunities to see the most famed painting in the world, even if he himself was a bit underwhelmed.

As they toured through the winding halls and staircases, each room holding some works that even Steve would recognize, it was easy to be overwhelmed. Combined with the surrealism of  _ Holy shit,  _ that  _ is a Van Gogh? I’m looking at a Van Gogh in person.  _ Steve too was beginning to see that this was definitely worth the trip. Diana held her tongue, refraining from talking Steve’s ear right off about the tortured painter. He could tell by the way she was constantly biting her lip.

“Careful, your lip will bleed,” he whispered lowly. He bent closer still, going down a decibel. “I do find the way you do it enticing though.”

Her bottom lip escaped her teeth as she turned, a feigning a stunned. “Coming on to me in the middle of the Louvre, Steve? At the very least wait until we see some erotica prints.” She rubbed the small of his back, tantalizingly above the curve of his rear.

He cleared his throat, glancing around to see if anyone was looking. Far too many were looking in their direction for his liking. Granted it was probably more towards the Van Gogh than him.

“The Louvre is one of the largest art galleries in the world,” he stated matter-of-factly. “What do you think the chances are of us being alone enough to do more than hug?”

“Hrmm probably not high. But i’ll gladly take that hug sometime.”

“If you play your cards right…” he smiled wrapping his arm around her shoulders to gently bring her closer to him as they gazed at the rushed vibrant colors of the painting.

 

They buzzed through the ancient art sections, for it housed artifacts all too familiar to her. Diana slowed her face as soon as she found Steve lingering in the hall that housed the massive paintings of Jacques Louis David.

“You have fondness for Jacques Louis David?” she asked over his shoulder, backing away as he turned abruptly from  _ Oath of the Horatii _ .

“Not sure. I mean this looks pretty cool. A lot of strength in it I guess.”

“Ah, so you _ are _ attracted to strength.”

“You would know,” he quipped back gently. “So what horrible thing did this schmuck do? Kill a tax collector? Slept with his landlord’s daughter?”

She shook her head with a soft laugh, “No. Nothing of the sort. Though I think there could be an argument that what he did...was worse.”

Diana could feel him frown. And he didn’t even need to ask the question.

“He was involved in the Reign of Terror,” she explained with a nod towards the painting of the three Roman brothers. “These paintings made prior to the Revolution probably tapped into the calm before the storm.”

“So he made these paintings into one big analogy of his country…” Steve noticeably paused. Stopped himself from thinking the eerie uneasiness that he himself felt was reflected in the painting from that turbulent era. “How is this worse?”

“You remember the Reign of Terror? The guillotine? He was heavily associated with those responsible for thousands of deaths by that mechanism, like Jean-Paul Marat and Robespierre.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah. One would feel sympathy for one who would push for a cause, but he announced he would die along his friends at the end of the Revolution. He fled instead.”

Her partner rolled his eyes and shook his head in dismay, “Somehow I’m now less impressed with these paintings.”

“Oh no,” she interrupted. “His work is still very much important and very much captivating. In truth his only real offensive work is glorifying Marat. Somehow lionizing someone lying dead in a bath.”

Steve slid his hands in his pockets and hummed along. He could forget about David’s character. Diana was right when she said his work had better character than he did.

 

As they shifted to the next wing, Steve heard Diana give what could only be described as a sigh of relief. 

“Athena,” she sighed as she moved quickly through the crowd towards a tall statue of a woman draped in a gown, wearing a tall helmet. Diana seemed to approach the statue of Athena in much the same way someone would if they recognized someone they knew.

Diana beamed at the statue and Steve looked on with a soft regard. He didn’t much give a care when it came to Diana’s gods, despite confronting them on multiple occasions, but Athena was a figure he couldn’t help but mirror Diana’s admiration. Maybe it was an unwitting connection he played with in this thoughts. After all, Athena in owl form, had touched his shoulder, graced him enough to help them save thousands of people. With Athena, Steve could understand Diana’s devotion.

“I so love this image of her,” Diana beamed turning back to Steve.

He gave an unreadable expression, reminded painfully, gazing at Athena and Diana looking at him, that Diana  _ was _ a goddess in no uncertain terms.

She was smiling, beaming even, looking very much like any kid when they would see Santa. Full of awe and inspiration. And yet, Steve knew when in the heat of battle, her gaze was as steady and calm as the stone goddess looming over the hall.

Diana recognized that glazed look he had. It was always wistful and wry, a tinge of sadness inside that awe. She never liked that look. It made her sad too and she didn't know why.

Steve cleared his throat and tried to make light of his thoughts, "She really looks like she's got a bit of attitude with that pose."

"Of course she does. Do you know the messes she deals with?"

He couldn't resist the urge to touch her, wrapping his arm around her again, kissing the back of her head, just above her pony-tail. "I thought I recognized that gesture. You look the same way whenever I get in trouble."

"I do not," she nudged him back playfully. "And I am no Athena."

"Pretty damn, close," he kissed the back of her head again. "And I am lucky for it every passing second that I am with you."

\----

They finished their tour of the Louvre late in the evening, but didn’t leave before Steve bought Diana the official Louvre program, that indeed was thick enough to be a book on art on its own. They strode along the Seine, chatting idly about the works that they just saw before stopping at a bar where Ernest Hemingway was rumored to frequent, a rumor that the owners seemed to embrace with many photographs of the author lining the walls.

They retired for the evening after packing their things for the trip to London the next day.

It couldn't have been later than three in the morning when both Diana and Steve were awaken by his phone buzzing on the nightstand.

On Diana's part, she pretended to be asleep as he swung his legs over the bed to answer the call.

He spoke in short abrupt statements, lowly, trying in vain not to disturb the goddess sleeping next to him.

“Yes?...okay…” there was a pause as his breath stilled. “Yeah. Fine. Yessir. Bye.”

He hung up the phone and dropped it on the nightstand, turning over and crawling under the covers.

For Diana's part she let him settle before bringing up her question.

“What's that about?”

“Work. They removed me from the Syria operations. I no longer need to go.”

His voice was flat. Not emotionless, just a bit too casual for the topic he was talking about. It was as if someone reported him the weather forecast for the week.

Perhaps he was as conflicted about the news as she was. On one hand, he didn’t have to leave home, and put himself in danger. On the other hand, given his impassioned insight last night, that would hundreds of helpless people to the wolves. And that didn’t sit well with either of them.

And then there was the question of  _ why _ he was let go only after a day of being notified by the mission. Perhaps it had become easier for his enemies to influence the powers that be to keep him out of the way of whatever scheme they were wanting to put in place.

“So, what does that mean?” she asked, not hiding her worry in her tone.

“They’ll put someone better suited for the mission in my place,” he replied noncommittally. 

“You mean better suited for their profit.”

“That’s...the idea.”

Steve was playing this very calmly. Mostly because he was so numb to everything involved in his work. He almost relished his time with A.R.G.U.S. It wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying, but working with metahumans was so much easier to handle than seeing the day to day Abel and Cain story mankind seems to have against itself.

Diana cared very much about her adoptive country, but her stakes in its agency to it’s ideal was not as great as Steve’s. He was a patriot, born and raised in the United States, he wasn’t given much of a choice. But he was raised hearing stories of it’s heroes. The Daniel Boones and the Hugh Glass’s of the country. The Chief Josephs and the Teddy Roosevelts. The Rosa Parks’ and the Harvey Milks. Being open to honest idealism lied very much with Diana’s own sensibilities. And it must’ve hurt to feel like the people with whom you serve your country with turn their backs on you.

Perhaps some blame lay with her. She was all powerful--in their eyes. And held no allegiances. And certainly had no issue vocalizing her disagreement with political plans that involved military action. The fact Steve even associated with her--including when they weren’t dating or living together, made him a bit more powerful within the Pentagon. And that more than likely terrified some of the higher brass in there.

Indeed, if he continued learning from Diana and the Justice League, as well as learn from his mistakes, in a few years he could be in charge of them. But he wouldn’t. He will always be a soldier. More than half his life in the field, there was very little chance he would do anything else.

“Hey, can I ask you a Theological question?” Steve asked, tucking his arm behind his pillow as they both settled back for sleep. Diana once again glanced back over her shoulder, eyebrows in a straight line of confusion. She shifted on her other so she could face him, noting how his gaze was still fixed towards the ceiling.

“I am not sure. I am religious to my own gods, and even then I am not the most well versed in their ways. That was my mother’s and Castalia’s job. But ask away, I may be able to answer.”

“What...what do you think Athena thinks of humans? Like, as people, you know. Not as...things to lord over. Or does she even think of us as anything else?”

Diana turned her gaze to the ceiling as well, as if looking for the very answer in the plaster. When it came to her gods she would always be wary of their methods and told others to be careful as well. Without being watchful, you could end up dead...or worse. That said, her nature and upbringing always told her to love them, despite their faults. And she thought of a patron like Athena. As a goddess she was in many ways different from the rest.

“Well,” Diana began, thinking of ways Castalia would describe the goddess of wisdom. “Athena by nature was wise but not exactly known to be...sympathetic. However she is reason and I find reasonable people to be relatively magnanimous in general as a part of it. So, I think…”

She glanced over to her side to Steve.

“I think,” she continued, halting for only moment. “...she sees humans as having potential. Governed and led correctly, combined with the freedoms to make their own decisions unlocks the highest of their capabilities.”

“She touched me you know,” he said in the dark, touching the part of his shoulder, along the lines of his tattoo, where the owl avatar of the goddess had landed. He thought idly of the statue of her at the Louvre. If he thought about it, her gesture could be considered as open. The hand on her hip impatient but strong. It was up to you to take her wisdom. She wouldn't bestow anyone anything without just cause first. At least, that's if Diana was correct. “I don’t really think about it much, but every once in a while I remember it and I don’t know how to feel about it. Am I crazy?”

Diana giggled, staring back into his eyes, reminded how far and away the average mortal was to the spiritual realm. For as much belief humans were capable of, the distance between was greater. They may have felt their gods or spirits but it unfortunately wasn’t near as close to how Themyscirans exist with them on a daily basis. In a way, Diana felt privileged, and bemoaned the distance as contributing the increasing amount of cynics among humans. Then again, that wasn’t the mortals fault, and the distance, if history had anything to say about the nature of gods, was for their very safety.

“You are not crazy. I am glad you asked. I think you can spend time enough to think about what that means to you. I can only say to you with certainty that gods interacting physically in with those in the mortal realm is still very much a rare thing. If not for the very fact their interactions tend to lead to disaster.”

“Now that worries me.”

She shook her head in amusement, snuggling closer to him, “Don’t be worried. I have your back.”

As she settled, the silence drew enough between them that Diana let her eyes flutter shut, only giving a hum when Steve whispered into the night.

“...thanks, Di....”


	7. England Part 1: Beauty and the Bard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their first day in London, Diana and Steve find themselves admiring a playwright. Diana, later, has a moment of weakness...

The early trip from Paris to London via the Chunnel was swift thankfully, but both Diana and Steve fell asleep on the ride underneath the English Channel. It was just about to reach mid-morning when they arrived at the Eurostar Station in London.

They took a quick cab to Diana’s London safe-house---a flat she delegated as her unofficial “home” until she bought her property on the Virginia coastline. She still used the flat for travel as a base, albeit infrequently as of late.

Not that she minded. Her beach house was special for a variety of reasons for her. Most of all she had fond memories already ingrained about the place. Watching the sunrise over the ocean, observing the stars in the dead of night, where light pollution was scarce and she could see the very ring of the galaxy streak across the sky. Morning exercises along the beach. Steve cooking her meals in her kitchen of stainless steel and marble tops. Laying in bed with him, with the moon glowing through the bay windows.

Her London flat was nice, but she only remembered the sleepless nights, and short time spent actually living there, much of the furniture and appliances falling into disuse. Still, she admired the view of London from her balcony window at night.

The couple were able to stop by her flat to drop off their things and change into cleaner clothes. Having not had much sleep on the trip here, both were contemplating on falling asleep for a few hours. But they were beginning to feel restless as they opened up the flat, watching the morning hustle and bustle along the Thames from Diana’s windows.

Exploring they went. And after a quick brunch at Hyde Park, Diana wanted to show Steve the one place she never had a chance to visit in this town.

The Globe was running thin today, this early. Only a handful of people were inside, gazing up at the architecture and the gloriously structured and painted stage.

“Here’s your Colosseum again,” Steve said pointing out the circular design of the structure and Diana grinned.

“You’re learning.”

“I am.”

Years ago, back when Diana was first entering in the modern world of mankind, her then friend Barbara Minerva introduced her to Shakespeare. She held a liking for the playwright for a variety of reasons. Mostly, this connection to a woman she once held dear, but also his rather profound understanding of classical theatre, harking to the Hellenistic plays and performances she saw much of on her home of Themyscira. She admired how he seemed to capture the essence of human fickleness and tediousness and made it all seem rather graceful and profound. And, if Diana were honest, Shakespeare’s romantic comedies, problematic in some ways, never ceased to genuinely amuse her.

With the exception of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. For personal reasons for Diana. Notably the comparatively tame and docile image of her mother, Hippolyta. At least in her relationship with Theseus. That said, the play’s brief mention of Hippolyta’s relationship with Oberon, a king of a mythical magical realm, may have had a sliver of truth in regards to the Amazon Queen’s actual relationships with gods.

Steve's blue and amused gaze traveled up to the stage. An impressive wooden thing, with a well manicured canopy and pillars, sufficiently designed to help the views see the actors, as well as discretely dispel effects and tricks from the backstage. It was likely a vague replication of what the actual stage looked like back in Shakespeare's time, but Steve reasonably assumed that everything was reconstructed to be as accurate to the original as possible. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised that  _the_ Shakespeare theater has one posh looking stage. Even back in the day, the wealthy love their home entertainment theaters."

“Well, believe it or not, Shakespeare was actually for the common folk. Very much a court jester for the humble masses at the expense of the ruling class. I guess when Shakespeare started to be read, instead of performed, so only the higher educated class had access to his works, is when that switch of preference happened.”

Steve scoffed and let out a teasing, “Nerd.”

She gave a light look of mock appall. “You want to play that, I will remind you of when you took me to the Air Force museum and you corrected the tour guide. Fifteen times.”

“If he’s a tour guide he should know basic differences between the engine of a Wildcat and the engine of a Hellcat.”

They stopped in front of the stage as Diana explained that the majority of the crowd was standing in the pit, looking up at the stage as the performers would make their marks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve drawled, but waggled his eyebrows, “Hey, what do you think of the theory that Shakespeare is actually--”

“--some Oxford Lord,” Diana answered along with him nodding, but not hiding the annoyed roll of her eyes. “Yes I’m aware of the theory. I find it fascinating when modern humans underestimate the genius of their own species. The pyramids come from aliens? Please.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed at her disdain. In many ways, it was a very Wonder Woman response. A woman who always believed the best in mankind was not going to take nonsense that hypothesized humans weren’t capable of their own trait of ingenuity.

“Pyramids are simple geometric shapes that constitute stability, it takes a few great minds to come up with the concept, of which Egypt no doubt had many. Shakespeare’s works may seem posh today, but in his time they were rather everyman. And it wasn’t like he was the only playwright at the time. There was Ben Jonson and Christopher Marlowe among others, the former of whom verifies in many writings Shakespeare the person’s existence.”

“Well, thank god he was real then, because what I’m about to do would be kind of pointless, wouldn’t it?”

“What are you doing?” Diana hissed after him as he climbed up on the wooden stage. At first, no one seemed to notice he was on stage. He stepped to the very edge and then opened his mouth, voice ringing.

_“...From this day to the ending of the world,_

_But we in it shall be remembered-_

_We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;_

_For he to-day that sheds his blood with me_

_Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,_

_This day shall gentle his condition;_

_And gentlemen in England now a-bed_

_Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,_

_And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks_

_That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.”_

Diana couldn’t help that her mouth went a little slack, oblivious to a few of the guests peering back over their shoulders to see who was monologuing on stage.

“Sir,” an elderly docent with a badge on her chest stepped towards the stage and spoke with a grin on her lips, “magnificent recital but the stage is off limits at this time.”

“Sorry! Sorry!,” Steve hopped down, grinning from ear to ear, as he met up with Diana.

“So you do read Shakespeare?” Diana laughed,  but her arms were still crossed over her chest, trying to keep herself from looking too impressed or too much second hand embarrassment.

“Eh, not really. Eighth grade English class. Had to memorize one of Shakespeare’s monologues for extra credit. It’s imprinted on my mind at this point. I really needed that extra credit.”

She wished she wasn’t on the down-low so she could use her lasso in public, because she was sure THAT was a lie. He always was a reader. Every one of his books was well worn and well used. Especially the classics. She would fail to understand why he was so shy about that fact of his life.

 _I have to prepare myself for what I might encounter from your end of the world,_ she could practically hear him joke as an off-hand explanation as to why his  _Odyssey_ was fairly well-worn and wrinkled around the edges. Next to that, was a high-school issued paper back translation of Dante's  _Divine Comedy_ , perhaps the most visibly used book in his collection, pages marked and highlighted, some almost falling out and haphazardly taped together. It was, along with many of the classics he held in his personal possession, a supplement of his Catholic upbringing as a child.

Diana then, called him out, "Steven Trevor, what did I say about you playing coy? I've seen your section of books on my bookcase. You like the classics as much as I do."

"Well  _Art of War_ is pretty mandatory for most soldiers. Along with several other of those books," he shrugged. "You're ignoring the fact that  _Harry Potter_ is also among that stack. Along with the complete novelization of  _Die Hard_."

He followed with a playful smack on her upper back, and laughed, "Trust me, Princess, the gods did not give you a particularly smart or cultured man."

\---

After their visit with the Globe, they both went back to her flat so that Diana could finish some apartment business, which apparently constituted one email and fooling around with her lover, until it was time for their evening activity.

Steve wanted to know what the London night life was like. During his many travels, believe it or not, London was rarely a destination unless Diana was involved. But a few of his fellow NATO comrades swore by the club and bar scene in London. And, to Diana’s credit, she knew where to go.

The club was in a tiny burrough on the southeast corner of London, the foggy evening lit by lights from the shops and bars along the cobblestone streets, this club in particular, right above a ceramics shop was pounding music and flickering bright colorful lights still visible behind the tinted windows. A small line of people were outside the door right at the corner of the shop that led through the bouncers and up narrow rickety wooden steps to the main floor of the club.

It wasn’t an exclusive club. Anyone could come in, provided they paid the entry fee and the club wasn’t at capacity. Steve and Diana waited only ten minutes before a large group of university students left the club and they started waving people in.

The main floor was very modernly decorated with fake marble floor tiles plastered on the old wooden floor. There were benches, tables, chairs and a bar along the perimeter of the dance floor where couples, or in many cases complete strangers, were currently dancing right against each other. Drywall pillars and partitions painted stark white that really served as brilliant reflective surfaces for the rapid colorful lights flickering around to the beat of synthesizers.

“Sisters of Mercy!? Alright!,” Steve began bobbing his head to the music. “A fan of the Manchester scene, Angel?”

“Manchester?”

“Yeah,” he replied aloud over the music, still subtly bobbing his head to the beat. “80s rock that came out of Manchester. Best of the era. Joy Division, New Order. Technically Sisters of Mercy doesn’t follow that category, they were from Leeds and technically gothic pop, but same time period. Still kickass.”

“I thought you were into Led Zepplin and Pink Floyd,” Diana said, knowing those were the first bands Steve introduced her to from his personal music playlist. Then, as she thought more of it, she added wryly, “Along with any number of 60s folk singers.”

“I like a lot of variety. But you weren’t going to have a crash course in Man’s World music and not be introduced to Led Zepplin.”

“I’m fond of the classical genre myself,” Diana said with a grin, watching as Steve was thoroughly unsurprised. “And Metallica.”

“Metallica?” he pulled a face that betrayed that he wasn’t sure about her choice of metal band, but as he pondered it he bobbed his head in agreement. “Interesting…”

“My favorite is of course your beautiful voice,” she replied with a broad smile, patting his cheek and watching as he cleared his throat anxiously.

“I keep forgetting you can hear that in the shower.”

“You truly do have a beautiful voice,” she admitted, but didn’t press. Instead she nodded her head towards the bar. “Why don’t you get us some drinks and I’ll find us a space to dance in that corner over there.”

“Affirmative,” Steve replied resolutely before flying off on his mission.

As she wedged her way through the crowd of dancing bodies, she smiled to herself that Steve was finally looking like he was letting loose. Or at the very least the prospect of dancing with her was the highlight of the day for him. Diana, as usual, had to dodge a few interested men as they clearly made her their mark, and as she was gently brushing away the fifth offer from a gentleman wanting to buy her a drink she found herself face-to-face with a woman.

This woman and her knowing smirk and mesmerizing blue eyes managed to stop her in her tracks.

“Find yourself in a pickle, luv?” the woman’s voice rang low, cutting through the pounding bass of the music.

Diana raked her eyes over the woman’s fair hair and features. There was something to blonds that got her particularly riled. Before Steve, and the exception of Clark, there was Kasia, who was as fair as this woman here. Diana remembered her being particularly vain over her long golden locks. It was what set her apart from Sophia, whose warrior like disposition made her own blond hair the color--and texture unfortunately--of wheat. Before Kasia was Evyrale whose own golden hair was softer than Junia’s famed silk shawls.

Whatever the case was, she was entranced at how much this woman seemed to glow in the dark dance hall, despite the rapid flickering lights.

“Most call me Beauty,” she said with an eye that glinted just a bit too much for Diana’s liking.

“What do you call yourself?”

Beauty smirked, and leaned over, lips barely touching Diana’s ear, “Blodeuwedd.”

Diana arched a brow and watched as the woman’s smirk grew wider, “And you are Diana, of Themyscira.”

Ice plummeted to her gut, but Diana retained her composure. How had this woman…

Then it dawned on her. She wasn’t talking to a woman at all.

“So, Blodeuwedd, you are a goddess, I see,” Diana nearly laughed to herself at the realization. She stopped however, caught. This was not a god she was familiar with and who knows what her intentions were.

“Oh you wouldn’t know about me, princess,” the woman said in an unreadable tone, her blue eyes almost gleaming white as the lights reflected on them. “Most, even of my own people, no longer remember me. Or any of us.”

Blodeuwedd reached over and gently grasped Diana’s hand to pull her away from the corner of men further towards the center of the dancing, letting the lights accentuate Blodeuwedd’s movements with heart throbbing rhythm. The goddesses hands were on Diana's hips, guiding her along the hip swaying rhythm and in a second Diana found herself breast to breast, hips to hips with her, as she leaned over to speak into her ear.

“Is that your thing over there?” the slice in Blodeuwedd’s voice caused her spine to shudder involuntarily. An achingly familiar shudder and a wave a memories flooded her. As such, it took her a moment to realize that Blodeuwedd was talking about Steve, who was at the bar waiting for the black clad bartender to finish mixing their drinks.

Diana’s breath hitched when the blonde goddesses tongue traced the shell of her ear, and immediately she knew she had to leave. She did not want to know what would happen if she allowed Blodeuwedd to continue her teasing more. Wordlessly, giving the goddess no explanation, she turned and left the center of the dance floor.

Immediately, Diana felt ashamed, knowing she had a tinge of weakness in at all feeling desire with Blodeuwedd. But the goddess took her back to the days of her island and her relationships there. Feminine relationships. An avenue to explore the female sexual experience on all levels. Diana could feel the pang of long forgotten lust at the thought of soft curves and breasts pressed against her. Soft sensual skin and movements, light gasps, and heady tastes. And she felt guilty for even pining a little bit about those things.

But there was no mistaking the relief she felt in her heart when she noticed Steve standing right in front of her, holding one ball glass of whiskey in one hand and a cosmo in another, an eager grin on his face. “Sorry it took so long, they had to crack open another bottle of vodka.”

His expectant gaze fell at the rather flushed look on her face, “Is something wrong?”

Diana let a pause of music fill the air before answering. “No, no. But--er, um--can we go somewhere else?”

Diana glanced up at the rapidly flashing lights and then around at the rapidly gyrating people in the club. Knowing there was a goddess here, a vixen in Diana’s very recent experience, she did not want to know what could come up in a night of drinking, sweating, lusty dancing, and drugs.

“Perhaps somewhere, quieter.”

Steve held her gaze and a calming seriousness crossed his face. “Yes, of course. Let me finish this eight pound drink real quick and we’ll go.”

As soon as Steve finished his drink, he grabbed her hand and wedged themselves through the crowd to leave, feeling a calming relief in the cool night air, thrumming with quiet compared to the contained music inside the club.

Immediately across the street, next to a street light on the corner, a worn-looking pub sign that held a coat of arms got her attention. She led him to the pub, still open this late in the evening, holding a few night stragglers, getting a bite to eat or a pint to drink before the next club or before going home.

The lights inside were a dim yellow, darkening the mahogany of the highbacked benches and wooden tables. They slid at a table next to the window overlooking the night street before ordering tall beers. Diana couldn’t help but smile at the change of venue and pace.

In comparison to her partner, Diana was a bit more adventurous. Steve was the one who preferred nights in watching movies, reading, or chatting over the fire pit on Diana’s dock overlooking the beach. Partying, in his words, was from a time long past in his life as a young soldier.

Though Diana enjoyed the occasional night out, just sitting down, her attention completely on Steve and his presence was something she rather liked.

“Better?” he asked, but did not press on what clearly seemed to be bothering her.

Taking mercy on him, without wanting to alarm him too much, she gently explained her reasoning, “Things were starting to get to me in there. I struggled to let loose.”

Steve nodded, understanding completely. Though in his time with her, she rarely turned down a chance to have a wild night, he wasn’t going to question when she had enough. Besides, he rather enjoyed drinking English stout across the table from her in the dull drone of the late night patrons.

Their attention was momentarily distracted as rain began to pelt on the panes of the window.

“Eughh, walking home should be fun,” Steve gave a gutteral murmur as he brought his glass to his lips.

This, however didn’t seem bother her one bit. “We can wait here a bit. Just enjoy what the night brings.”

Steve didn’t follow what Diana was entranced by--the low light of the lamppost reflecting on the wet cobblestone streets. He was too entranced by her to give much thought to the weather. He may have felt the delightful buzz of the stout he was drinking, but Diana’s wistful gaze made that drunken warmth feel that much more pleasant.

It was then that Steve quietly moved himself from the other side of the table, and sat on the same bench next to Diana. He draped an arm around her shoulders, meeting her gaze out the window, watching the lines and patterns the rain etched on the window, blurring the soft light of the lamp post outside. Every once in a while, Steve would glance over at her face, just to catch that look of peaceful wonder in her eyes, a look that gave him calm.

It was easy for Diana to just admire the night rain with her partner’s arm comfortingly around her, and she leaned back a little against his chest, the warmth of his body, making everything, the lighting, sounds, the rain, the night all the more softer.

She admitted to herself that she did have fond memories of the sensuous form of a woman against her. Nights of exploration, partying, fun, and self-indulgence with some of her fellow Amazons was something she was never going to forget. But thinking about and experiencing Steve’s rather hardened planes, firm edges, and even hair on his forearms and chest, never failed to bring out an affectionate smile in her. Nights of clumsiness, awkwardness, playfulness, and passion that made up their history seemed to hold entirely different feelings from her Amazonian nostalgia.

It was a difference, she thus far was enjoying very much and was doing everything in her power to not mess it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's recital is from Shakespeare's "Henry V"
> 
> Blodeuwedd is a Welsh folklore figure whose story involves her conspiring with her lover to kill her husband. She was later changed into an owl for the crime in some versions.
> 
> Steve's reference of Joy Division and New Order is a nod to one of the best films about music scenes ever made, Steve Coogan's "24 Hour Party People". Both bands are awesome, and the movie is a creative insight in underground British bands.


End file.
